


Sub Rosa

by orangeCrates



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe, Fake/Pretend Relationship, M/M, Minor Character Death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-20
Updated: 2016-02-24
Packaged: 2018-05-22 05:45:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 33,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6067405
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orangeCrates/pseuds/orangeCrates
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Malik was marked as an omega at the age of eleven, he was no longer allowed the freedom to choose his fate beyond what the alpha in charge of him allowed.</p><p>The future he had wanted was forever out of his grasp and he was left chafing under the new restrictions and expectations placed on him.</p><p>Then there was Altair, an arrogant alpha that Malik used to train with. They were not friends, but when Altair appears in the infirmary over an odd ailment Malik is left to choose whether to keep his secret or damn Altair to the same fate he's suffered.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

In Masyaf it was tradition to offer training to all children from assassin families (and to those children who had nowhere else to go). They all went to the same classes meant to teach them the ways of the order and to start their physical training. The number of trainees stayed fairly consistent until they were nine years old as those who were omegas began to show the signs of their sex.

When Malik felt the first signs at eleven, he thought he was just sick. He was less sure when he got more than a few stares from the older brothers (the ones that had earned their grey novice hoods by proving themselves to be alphas). When Malik made it home after a full day of classes he was afraid that the thing he had hoped wouldn't happen (not to him) was occurring.

He cited an uneasy stomach (which was not a lie) and went to bed early with his face pushed into his pillow, his body racked by shivers and his mind plagued by the remembrance of the three trainees that had already been pulled from combat training and put with the other omegas to learn safer trades.

He fell asleep, hoping, _praying_ (to what god? What god do children who are taught that nothing is true and everything is permitted supposed to believe in? Who do they expect to answer their prayers?), that it was only a fever he had caught from someone else. The man who runs the fruit stall their family visited had been coughing terribly. Perhaps it was from him that Malik caught something.

He could not be an omega. He just _couldn't_.

But when he woke up, he was hot all over like he was running a fever except even the tips of his fingers were warm. His mother was hovering over him with a hand smoothing over his forehead, saying, "You won't be going to training." And Malik could tell that his mother didn't mean _today_ but _ever again_.

"No." He said, pushing himself to sitting, "No! _Please_ , I can do it. Mother--"

His mother shushed him.

"Malik." His mother said, sitting on the edge of his bed and pulling him into a lose embrace, "We all have our roles to play. There is no shame in this."

The words did not reassure Malik. It was possible he hadn't heard them at all because he just clutched at his mother's clothes and shook his head, pleading to be allowed to finish his training. (He was going to be a master assassin, like his father. He was not going to become someone's _wife_ , left with no other way to serve the order except to learn the healing arts and to support from the shadows while his brothers went out and made a difference in the world).

~ + ~

Malik tried to sneak out the day after his heat was over. But his mother had been trained in the order as well (lasting all the way until the age of fourteen), and caught him easily.

"Malik, you cannot." Was all his mother said.

Training all the children ensured that any alpha that became a novice would have the proper foundation both in education and training. The order was less concerned about the purity of bloodlines but it was easier to marry an omega that understood the order: their ways, their traditions and their training. Omegas like Malik's mother, raised by the order, were ideal wives for any assassin and, Malik thought bitterly as his mother pulled him back into the house, he would be expected to be the same.

His mother didn't waste breath on platitudes: they would have been worthless to Malik who had all the stubbornness of his father. Instead, Faheem set Malik to do work around the house. It was easier for Malik, to have his hands busy with something productive.

They passed another day like this, with Malik working in the house while he stomped around, pointedly ignoring his mother who, in turn, did not bother Malik about his lack of manners and words.

Malik kept his silence up until Altair showed up while he was putting the wood he'd chopped away.

Belatedly, he remembered they'd made plans to spar today.

Altair was small for their age, shorter than Malik by half a foot, and scrawny, but he was _quick_ and brutal. Many in their age group would rather be put on latrine duty than fight him. It was just as well that he and Malik often chose to fight each other. They were not friends, exactly, but Malik never complained about being beaten, only picked himself up and tried again.

Malik glared at him. "What do you want?" He snapped, his first words that day.

"Is it true?" Altair said, nonplussed by Malik's aggression, "You're not coming back to training? You're an--"

"Don't." Malik hissed and threw the wood down with the others, heedless of the way it made the ones on top tumble from the neat pile he'd been making.

So Altair didn't, but he was still staring and Malik crossed his arms with a scowl, until Altair shifted a little and said, "You do not seem liked you'd be one."

Malik wasn't sure what was meant by that. Was it something about his face? Did he not look like an omega? Fight like an omega? Or was he referring to the fact that the instructors had been whispering about the way they fought, the talk of how if they could make it to fifteen without their bodies betraying them that they will surely be fine assassins given time and dedication?

"Well, I am." He was angry (and he knew it wasn't Altair's fault, but he was right there so), he said, "fuck off."

~ + ~

The path of an assassin, that his late father had walked, was closed to him now.

But there are other ways he could serve the order, still. This was the one piece of advice his mother offered him when his temper had cooled.

Malik chose the healing arts because, even if he were to become a scholar the position of Dai was also beyond his reach. But the healer's wing was close to the sparring rings and Malik could still see the lessons (and on the quieter days he can hear the instructions if he strained his ears). He watched his peers train, some of them disappearing over the years until, one by one, they entered the sparring area sporting the grey hood of a novice. During that same time, Malik learned how to heal wounds and sicknesses (and went outside in the dark of the night to practise climbing and, when he could, the sword). 

Malik proved himself capable and reliable (determined to do well despite his sex). That was the reason why, when Altair walked in, taller now at the age of sixteen than when he was eleven, Malik was alone.

He gave Altair a look over, noting the lack of visible injuries before he closed the book he had been reading. 

"What are you doing here?" He said as he pushed his chair back.

Altair smirked briefly. "I see time hasn't sweetened your tongue."

His teacher, an elderly omega woman, told his mother (before a siege on the city took his life) that Malik was a quick study with all the technical aspects of healing, but that he was slow to pick up any bedside manners.

Malik only raised his brow, "I don't see why it should." And if Altair so much as hinted at the fact that he should be sweeter because of his sex Malik swore to himself he was going to hit the bastard. (Maybe he will anyway. He had tried to keep up with his training as much as he could, but his only weapon were sticks and his only opponent his baby brother who still had yet to earn his own grey hood).

Except Altair didn't look well and there was little point in picking a fight with the infirm.

"What ails you, brother?" Malik asked instead though the tone of his voice hadn't changed even if the words had.

A fact that Altair did not miss from the way he chuckled.

"I am ill." Altair admitted as he walked closer. "I feel the beginnings of a fever."

Malik nodded and reached for something to write on and with.

"How long has it been since it started?"

"Since yesterday."

Malik made an annoyed grunt as he rooted around the drawer for some ink. The problem with the other apprentice healer who shared his table was this: she always put things back in odd places.

"Has there been anything else?"

Altair shook his head. "No", he said because Malik was still not looking at him but going through a pile of things on the table.

Having located the ink, Malik proceeded to open it and dip his quill in. "No, headaches or coughs or anything like that?"

"No. Only..." then he shook his head with a frown, "it is nothing."

"Altair." Malik sighed, "I really don't care what embarrassing ailment you have, but I cannot treat it if I do not know what it is. So just stop wasting both our times and tell me what ails you."

Altair looked uncertain, but it was gone in a moment, to be replaced by something guarded and annoyed.

"I'm...sore."

Malik rolled his eyes, "Yes. Sore. That's very helpful, Altair. It answers all my questions. If you are feeling particularly helpful perhaps you may tell me where as well?"

The strange thing was, Altair seemed embarrassed (which meant he was also angry) and he scowled at Malik's reply before shaking his head. "Forget it." He shifted, as if he were uncomfortable in his own skin...in a way that made Malik pause. Altair did not leave, but he looked angry enough to just stalk out as he rubbed a hand over his chest with a bitten back sigh that wasn't meant to be heard.

A drop of ink fell from Malik's quill and completely ruined the paper he was going to write on. Then he slowly set it down.

"Has anyone been staring?" Malik asked (but that was madness. There was no way Altair could be in heat. He was already a novice.)

Malik's question made Altair start, "What?"

"Have you caught anyone staring? One of the novices or...or someone older. Not the children." Malik stood up (his teacher had said though, hadn't she? That she thought they gave out the novice greys too early because sometimes, just sometimes, an omega's first heat will be _late_.)

"I--yes. What does that have to do with anything?" Malik's worry bordered on panic and it was contagious, "Malik, what's wrong with me?"

 _Everything_.

"Nothing." He said, "It's probably nothing. Do you have any more classes today?"

"Just one but I'm already late. Malik, _what is wrong with me?_ " Because it didn't sound like nothing.

Malik hesitated then shook his head. "I'm not sure." Then he went to the back where they kept the dried herbs and he rooted around until he found what he was looking for. Altair stalked after him.

" _Malik_ " he growled like a threat as Malik opened a jar of pale powder.

"Close your eyes and mouth. Just do it!" Because it looked like Altair was going to argue and there was no time to explain. "I will explain later." Once Altair complied, Malik threw a handful of the power on him.

While Altair was busy wiping it off his eyes and mouth (while complaining about the smell and taste), Malik hurriedly put the jar back. Then he grabbed Altair's hand and dragged him out of the fortress.

"Explain yourself, Malik!" Altair hissed, pulling his hand from Malik's but following him never-the-less.

Malik frowned at him and said, "Not here." 

~ + ~

Kadar was away with another group of children. Their teachers had taken them into the nearby forest for some over-night training, so the house Malik shared with his brother was empty when they made it there.

Once the door was shut, Malik said, "I think you're going into heat."

To which Altair laughed, "I'm an alpha. I don't--Malik. What you're saying is impossible."

"Sometimes the first heat comes late. That's what my teacher told me."

Altair shook his head, "You're wrong."

Malik scowled at him, "you feel hot. Like--like there is a flame inside of you. But your hands and feet are not cold the way they feel when you have a fever. Your clothes are uncomfortable, but it's not because of your clothes. You skin is just sensitive, like you feel every brush more intensely than it has any right to be." He said it all with a deadpan and watched the way Altair's hands ball into fists, "You feel the stares and you hate it, but you want it as well. You feel _alone_ , like there's too much _space_ between you and other people. Like you--want to be touched and held, to smell the scent of another right beside you." Malik tipped his head back and crossed his arms in challenge. "Tell me that's not how you feel."

"You're wrong."

"Stubborn fool." But then he sighed then shook his head. "Stay the night. It is too late to give you suppressants."

Malik noted the way Altair's hands balled into fists, "I'm not an omega." He spat.

And this time, it was Malik's turn to laugh bitterly, "That's what I thought too."

~ + ~

It got worse, like Malik knew it would and Altair gratefully traded his novice robes for something less rough on his skin. His breathing was ragged and he curled on himself on Malik's bed.

Malik watched him shiver and sigh, shifting restlessly. Then it was Malik's turn to sigh right before he slipped into bed beside Altair. Hesitantly, he wrapped his arm around Altair's waist and rested the other on the nape of the other boy's neck, stroking lightly. He was distracted, momentarily, by Altair's scent and the flush on his cheeks. And he thought, this was different than the bawdy stories some of the alphas in the marketplace described it. Then again, those who bragged were probably not the sort who would be able to charm themselves into anyone's bed. Still, Malik couldn't quite stop himself from staring at Altair's mouth until Altair dragged him closer, hard enough that Malik grunted in objection.

"Hey!" Altair's face was pressed into the crook of Malik's neck and the only indication that he'd heard Malik at all was the way his grip loosened a little. Malik ran a hand over Altair's back and thought: Altair had never had a mother and his father had died when he was young. There would have been no one to teach him how to deal with this, especially not after they had him marked as an alpha. His voice was softer when he said, "you will want to find an alpha. Your instincts will make you seek one out, but you can fight it. It is safer for you to deal with this alone or to find another omega to stay close to even if it won't feel satisfying."

The sound Altair let out in response was muffled against Malik's skin, but this close it was easy to feel the way his chest heaved when making it.

Malik spent the rest of the evening humming old-lullabies into Altair's hair until they both fell asleep.

~ + ~

Malik was wrong. Everything about the way Malik's scent (bitter with medicinal herbs and dusty like old books), was comforting to Altair as was the warmth of his body and the feel of his hands on Altair's back and the vibration of his throat as he hummed.

It was comforting and perfect and Altair felt _safe_.

But whatever comfort there had been it was eclipsed in the morning by the fear of discovery and Malik woke up to a forearm pressed to his throat. There wasn't enough pressure to cut off his air supply, just enough to make it clear that it was a possibility.

"You're not going to tell anyone." Altair was angry and he was _scared_ (because what would Al Mualim think if he found out that Altair was an omega? What good was he to anyone when what he excelled in were the things forbidden to his sex?)

Malik pushed at his shoulders, "Altair, get off me!"

Altair only leaned down, making himself more difficult to throw off. It did not stop Malik from trying. But he was out of practice, denied the same opportunities to learn like Altair had been. There is no competition here, the chance that Malik could throw him off was slim (and it made him angrier). "This will be a secret you take to the grave, Malik!" There was more pressure added to imply that, one way or another, that will be what happened, "Swear it!"

"Altair you bastard! If I was going to rat you out I could have done it already!" He snapped because it was true and Altair must have known it too because he stopped.

They stared at each other (in closer proximity now than they had been the last four years), for a moment. Then Malik, still glaring, said, "Get off me."

When Altair did not (though the pressure on Malik's throat did ease), he snaked a hand up to pinch Altair' painfully on the inside of the arm (so very soft despite how hard anyone trained), that made Altair jerk back with a hiss.

"I said get off."

He was surprised when Altair finally climbed off him without much protest (though he was scowling and rubbing at the spot Malik had pinched hard enough to bruise). There was no time to think about it too muxh as Malik rubbed a hand over his throat.

They were still glaring at each other when Altair's stomach grumbled (they had both skipped dinner the night before but Altair's body would be hungry more than Malik's after going through his heat).

Malik rubbed a hand over his face with an irritated noise, "We'll discuss this over breakfast." He swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood up, gesturing for Altair to follow.

~ + ~

Altair did not stop glaring at him as they moved through the house. He did not stop as Malik walked around getting breakfast ready.

He was still glaring by the time they were eating and that was fine, really. Malik didn't want to bother with pleasantries either.

"You will need to start taking suppressants. If you disappear each month people will start to suspect."

Altair nodded, "I can steal them."

"We keep careful notes about our stock in the fortress. The healers will notice if you start taking it." Malik pushed his breakfast around his plate thoughtfully. "I've been learning how to make it. Most of the ingredients are common enough I can buy them from different merchants and they will not suspect. And if they do I will simply say I am practising."

The solution didn't seem to please Altair but Malik didn't really care. It was the solution with the least amount of risks involved. Surely Altair isn't too thick-headed to see that.

But then Altair said, "and what do you want in return?"

Having not expected that, Malik could only stare in surprise, "I don't want anything, Altair." He said slowly and mostly to his breakfast, "when they found out I was--I was an omega, they discarded me." That was not, strictly speaking, completely true. The order protected and provided for their own, be they omegas or alphas. It fed and clothed and taught all those who swore their loyalty to the Creed. But ever since Malik's first heat it wasn't the same. The world he belonged to and the skills he'd rightfully earned were now denied him and though he hadn't been abandoned it still felt liked he'd been cut off. "It didn't matter what I did or what I wanted. I was no longer--" His grip on his spoon tightened, "I was no longer welcome in the places I was before, to do the things I had done my whole life. If I were an alpha, I could choose what I wanted to do with my life. Now I am told that there are paths I cannot choose and they all look at me like I am less than what I am. I wouldn't wish that on anyone."

(And maybe it was a form of revenge too. To knowingly allow an omega to stay, to know, from now on, that when he saw Altair beating one of the other novices from the window in the healer's wing that everything they said about Malik being weak because he was an omega was _wrong_.)

It was Altair's turn to stare, like Malik was someone he didn't recognize. He said, "I don't like owing people things." Which was fair, Malik supposed. He didn't like it either. But Altair looked like he'd just worked something out and Malik watched him suspiciously. "I can teach you to fight."

"I know how to fight." Malik replied hotly.

"Not very well." Altair said with a smirk, "You're out of practice and you miss a lot from that high up."

Malik did not ask how Altair noticed. He had accepted, over the years, that Altair just had good eyes (not that he'd ever admit it. Altair's ego was big enough as it was if it got any bigger doors will start giving him trouble.)

"You'll get in trouble if they find out."

Altair snorted, "They won't." He said with so much assurance (arrogance) that Malik was tempted to reject the offer for that alone.

Instead, he bit it back and nodded.

"It's a deal."

~ + ~

The discovery of Altair's true sex seemed like it would change everything. It felt strange to Malik when their lives returned to normal as if nothing had happened.

But it did because once a month Altair came to him for suppressants and, almost every night, Altair snuck out of the fortress to spar with Malik and teach him the lessons they'd learned. He treated Malik the way his instructors once had, before his eleventh year. Altait was, if anything, more strict and more relentless than the old men who had taught them. Malik had the bruises to prove it.

He did not mind it, that Altair was rough and held nothing back. It was a welcome thing, these lessons and the fact that Altair did not pull his punches when they sparred. At the same time, he was far more careful than Malik expected, making sure not to leave bruises anywhere Malik wouldn't be able to hide.

Though it was inevitable that Kadar would find out, no matter the precautions Malik took to keep it hidden. He was _worried_ about the bruises, but relaxed when Malik explained.

"Well, I'm glad you're doing something that makes you happy."

Which was an odd thing, because Malik was certain that he'd done well at hiding any discontent he felt from his brother (who was too young to be burdened with the knowledge that Malik was unhappy with his lot in life.)

~ + ~

When they were both eighteen, Altair brought him a sword.

"It's too much trouble to bring you one every night." was the explanation he offered.

Malik unsheathed the blade. It was a good sword, well balanced and sharp if a little worn.

"I can keep this?"

Altair shrugged, he was already a journeyman, promoted long before any of the others. "I do not need it anymore." He had told the weapons' master he'd lost his on his last mission. He had a new one for himself, the grip unfamiliar in his hands still but it was worth the trouble to see the flush of appreciation on Malik's face.

Altair drew his own sword, "Let's see how long it takes me to beat you." He said and his smirk was insufferable but Malik answered it with a grin of his own.

"So sure of your victory? What arrogance. Do not forget," he sheathed the sword then tied it to his belt as they prepared to head for their usual sparring spot, "that I was the victor the last time we fought with swords."

"It has been weeks since then." Altair waved off Malik's victory. (The first time he'd returned from a mission he'd taken the chance to remind Malik that while he had been stuck here practising by himself, Altair was getting field experience and fighting real enemies. It was not the bruises he received for using that taunt but the tight-lipped look of anger and hurt Malik wore that convinced him to never try it again.) "We will see which one of us has improved more."

"Hah. We shall see." Malik said, then he clapped Altair on the shoulder in lieu of saying, _welcome back_.

And Altair grinned before he ducked into a seemingly random alley, following one of the many routes they took to their hidden training spot so no one will know where they were going. Malik didn't even think before he was following after him.

~ + ~

Afterwards, when they were both lying out on the grass, breathing heavily from exertion, Malik said, with little preamble, "someone asked to marry me."

He was looking up at the moon so he couldn't know what expression Altair was making, but the way he asked, "what did you say?" bellied the amusement no doubt reflected on his face.

"Kadar declined." He turned his head to give Altair a wry look, "I didn't say they asked _me_."

Despite being younger, Kadar was an alpha (had earned his own grey uniform when he as finally fifteen) which meant he had the right to make decisions for Malik. But Altair snorted because it should be clear to anyone who knew the brothers at all that any alpha who didn't have Malik's approval for marriage wouldn't have Kadar's.

"Who was it?"

Malik frowned, "I think it was Yazid? Kadar didn't mention his name, but from his description I think it was Yazid. I do not understand why they think I'd marry an alpha I have never spoken to before."

"Hah." Altair said, "no one speaks to you because you have made yourself a terror in the healer's ward. If you can only marry an alpha that will willingly speak to you, then your only choice is your brother."

For that, Malik leaned over and swatted him, hard, on the arm and the sting of it didn't even matter because Altair was still laughing at the offense on Malik's face.

"You're laughing now, but you forget, brother, that means I could just as well marry _you_. After all," Malik said as he fell back against the grass, "You are an alpha as far as everyone else is concerned, are you not? Everyone will expect you to take a wife at some point. At least I won't question your ability to perform." Malik expected laughter. He did not expect the way Altair fell silent. It prompted Malik to turn his head and give Altair a quizzical look. "Altair?"

But Altair's expression was unreadable as he sat up.

"It's late. I should go."

He was angry, that much Malik could gather from the set of his shoulder and the speed of his gait. But Malik didn't know _why_ as he watched Altair disappear around the corner of a building.

~ + ~

When Altair was twenty one he was promoted to Master Assassin (the youngest ever).

Malik expected to be happy for Altair rise in rank. He expected to be vindictive and pleased at the knowledge than an omega had beaten all the others to that coveted rank. But it came at the heels of a great betrayal and Malik's sleeves were stained with the blood of brothers he could and couldn't save. 

He was angry, instead, because a traitor had been allowed into a world Malik was locked out of. 

Because even if he couldn't always win against Altair, he was probably closer to being his equal in strength and skill than any other in their order. 

The realization that, no matter how high Altair climbed in ranks, no matter how many alphas he beat back, Malik would still be stuck _here_ tending to the sick and the wounded unless he wanted to be someone's housewife.

Altair's absence in the days following his promotion was only a reminder of their distance. After all, Altair was a Master Assassin now, surely with many new responsibilities. Why would he come to visit a lowly omega healer?

The increase in marriage proposals that came afterwards, as if this were his singular worth as a person only turned the anger and the envy (and the bitter taste of disappointment) ugly until it poisoned all his thoughts.

It made him snappish and cold when Altair finally decided to show his face at Malik's door.

"So the great Master Assassin finally deigned to show himself?"

Altair either hadn't expected Malik's anger or just not the intensity of it. Even so he was quick to hide his surprise. "I was busy."

"Of course you were." Malik said and shouldered past Altair and out the door, closing it behind him before he walked off. Altair followed him with the same sort of silent footsteps Malik had, by now managed to master. All the same, Malik knew he was following.

There was none of their usual banter as they made their way to the clearing they used for sparring. They are silent even as they drew their weapons. To avoid wasting time, Malik tended to start his warm ups before Altair arrived, leaving them more time for lessons or for sparring.

(Just a week ago, Altair had been working with Malik on an advanced technique he had learnt from another brother. His hands on Malik, adjusting his grip and helping him perfect his stance had been warm and distracting and the _pride_ on his face when Malik successfully disarmed him with the technique had made his chest swell. It had been a fond memory but now Malik could not think of it and not remember that he would have been able to learn such things in daylight with the rest of his brother if not for his sex.)

Malik attacked first, anger and bruised pride making his attacks more aggressive but less refined than they usually were. Anger on Altair was worn less obviously, but after all this time, Malik could see it in the set of his jaw, the way he gripped his sword just that much tighter than usual.

They never pulled their punches when they fought but it was never this _brutal_ exchange of blows like they were both determined to do actual harm.

It ended with Malik flat on his back with Altair straddling him. His own sword (originally Altair's because who would give an omega a weapon, especially one of such quality?) was on the ground somewhere while Altair's was buried in the ground beside Malik's head.

Altair's face was cast in shadow, but there was no mistaking the snarl pulling at his lips.

"I thought you, of all people, would be happy for me."

There was _hurt_ in Altair's expression. It was difficult to swallow when it seemed like Altair had everything that Malik wanted but couldn't have. Malik thrashed, but Altair had him _pinned_ and when he spoke his voice was raw beneath his anger (at the world, but Altair was a convenient taget).

"You of all people should understand why I'm not!"

Because he had kept Altair's secret, but Malik's own mother hadn't kept his.

In the same moment surprise flashed across Altair's face, his grip on Malik faltered. Taking advantage of that, Malik flipped him, reversing their positions but there was no victory in doing it. (There was nothing but the frustration that was making his throat close up and his eyes hot).

For all their teasing over the years, they were not men of words, so Altair only dragged Malik down, letting Malik hide his face in the crook of his neck when his shoulders began to shake. Malik scowled and resisted at first, unwilling to be treated like some fragile thing but it's short lived.

The anger he had carried with him seemed useless _now_ and being angry at _Altair_ of all people seemed even more pointless. So he fell forward, his hands twisting the white uniform Altair wore (that Malik had hoped to earn one day when he was a child), until the material was pulled taut between his fingers.

~ + ~

There came a point where Malik simply had to let go.

In some corner of his mind, maybe Malik had had ulterior motives for keeping Altair's secret. Maybe he'd wanted Altair to prove that they could be more than just omegas, that maybe if Altair succeeded and people _knew_ then it would change something.

Maybe he'd been hoping that he could still be an assassin.

But here, out in the field that had become familiar to their feet, under the moon that had witnessed all the nights they'd spent honing their skills against each other, Malik lay against Altair and let the disappointment and frustration _go_ until his head throbbed and he felt emptied of _everything_. Until he could really look and see himself and his motivations for what they really were.

He rolled off Altair and laid on the grass. Malik didn't move for a moment, with his eyes closed, just listening to the sounds of the night. Altair was still close enough that their shoulders just brushed each other when he moved to sit up. Only then did Malik open his eyes and what he saw was Altair's back, uniform already stained by dirt and grass.

He thought about them: the things he needed to let go of and the things he shouldn't (couldn't) give up on.

Then he reached out and plucked a stray leaf that had stuck to Altair's back.

"Your uniform is a mess already. How long will this one last before you ruin it?" The words were without the usual teasing familiarity, but it wasn't made toxic with envy. It was an olive branch, hesitantly offered.

Altair craned his head to look back, but his hood kept his face in shadow, but for the lower half of his face. Slowly, the corner of his mouth quirked up in a smirk and Malik visibly relaxed.

"It can be washed."

Malik rolled his eyes and pushed himself up.

"You say that so easily because you are not the one who has to clean it. Or deal with your wounds." Malik prodded Altair, "Tell me, Master Assassin, how many times have I had to stitch you up?"

"Not as often in recent memory. Soon I may not even visit you in the infirmary." Altair's reply was sly and even though he couldn't see it, Malik could very well imagine the way his eyes would look, haughty and bright.

"Hah! That would be the day. My days would be much less stressful without you mucking around."

"I believe you'd miss my company." Altair declared, "Admit it, Malik. You'd be bored without me around."

Malik leaned back when Altair leaned in, his eyebrows climbing up. "Strange. You are awake and yet you speak as if you were dreaming."

This drew a chuckle from Altair. But then it was, "I will speak to Al Mualim. There must be some way. You are as skilled, if not more than most of our age mates."

The words made Malik's chest constrict and not too long ago he might have agreed. Now he just sighed, "If our Master were going to make an exception it would certainly not be for me." He reached out and clapped Altair on the shoulder, "forget about me. I will manage." Then, much softer he added, "Congratulations on your promotion."

Altair reached out and squeezed Malik's hand. He did not say 'thank you', but he smiled at Malik like he meant it.

Malik managed a sincere smile in return before he hid it behind something more sarcastic, "try not to let it go to your head. Though I suppose it's too late for that."

~ + ~

A week after Altair left on a mission (of which he couldn't tell Malik the details), an assassin came into the infirmary with flame burns. It happened, Malik learned later on, because of a botched mission undertaken by a journeyman, a woman who had been promoted just weeks before.

It happened when she chased her target and the chase ended with a freak accident involving an oil lamp, an overly aggressive goat and the hired help's illicit affair with his employer's daughter (one that ended, understandably, fruitlessly), that set the barn she chased her target into ablaze.

In the morning he would question _how_ someone could be so unlucky, but right now he just ordered the assassin who brought her in to help her onto a bed.

The burns could have been worse, though with burns there was always the possibility of infection. He inspected her leg then ordered the other assassin away to report to Al Mualim. After he gave the assassin some opium for the pain, he went to grab a knife.

The assassin lying on the bed frowed at him (she was sweating, but her skin had been cold to the touch. Hardly a good sign). "Why do you need that?" She seemed ill at ease, but that is fairly normal in Malik's experience (Malik wasn't good at putting people at ease, but many assassins and novices have come to trust that he could do his job and do it well enough that he doesn't need to reassure them verbally).

He gestured towards her leg, where the burn reached all the way just above her knee, with charred cloth still clinging to it in parts. "I need to get that off." He said simply.

The woman paled at that (even more than she already was), and scrambled back, wincing when she put pressure on her injured leg.

"No!"

Malik looked wholly unimpressed by her antics and shook his head, "I'm trying to help you. Those pants need to come off. I assure you whatever is under there isn't anything I haven't seen before." Generally, Malik found that the alphas were either too eager to show off what was in their pants or embarrassed by the prospect of being seen naked (some of them were the ones who bragged the most).

It did not calm her down, however. Instead she made even more of an attempt to make an escape that was hampered both by the opium she had taken and her injuries. She only avoided falling off the bed and hitting her head because Malik grabbed her at the last minute.

"Hold still!" He said.

But she only weakly tried to pull away, "Call my mother! I refuse to be attended to by anyone but my mother!"

Malik really looked at her and with the hood down he could recognize her for the daughter of one of the senior healers, the one who used to worry that his daughter will turn out to be omega like him. As far as Malik was aware, the man was still asleep.

"I will call your mother, but this needs to be treated now!" 

Far from placating her, the alpha only struggled harder. In the ensuing scuffle, Malik's hand accidentally landed on her crotch (something he hadn't wanted to happen by any means). The alpha's hazel eyes were wide with fear as Malik realized that there was no penis beneath his hand.

"You--" He didn't get a chance to finish that sentence when someone hit him with a chair from behind. He hit the ground hard and it was only quick relfexes that saved him from being hit again as whoever was wielding the chair smashed it against the ground.

Malik rolled back, his feet touching the ground in a crouch. The alpha was still on the sick bed, it was her mother (a male omega named Muzahim), who picked up her discarded sword.

She sat up hastily, her fingers just missing her mother's sleeve, "you can't--" she said at the same time Malik darted forward.

Muzahim had lasted longer, according to his stories, than Malik had. But Malik had spent years training with Altair and that put his skill above Muzahim's (and the fact that no one expected him to know how to fight, let alone so well, was another advantage). He swept Muzahim's feet from beneath him and didn't hesitate to go after him when he fell. Malik had to wrestle the weapon away from him. Fighting barehanded against an armed opponent was not a disadvantage he wanted.

It was easier said than done. When Malik managed it by cracking the man across the jaw, he threw the sword to the other end of the room.

"Stop this--" But the rest of his words were choked back when the alpha put her arm around Malik's throat and dragged him off her mother.

Malik turned his head towards the crook of her elbow to buy himself precious seconds to breathe and tucked his chin down to keep her front cutting off his air entirely. It would have been a closer match if the alpha had been in full health. But as it was, she was suffering from burns and drugged and together that made it easier for Malik to elbow her in the gut and throw her off him.

"Sumayya!" Her father cried as she crashed against one of the tables.

Things might have continued if it weren't for the echo of footsteps in the hall, "is everything all right?"

The assassin who had brought the alpha in stuck his head into the room. Sumayya and Muzahim were frozen in place. There was no space left to defend themselves, but Malik didn't doubt that Muzahim would try (he had spent years fearing for the sex designation of his daughter, that she would have to go through what he did).

"Everything is fine." Malik said, while standing up. He fought the temptation to rub at his throat, "please close the door when you leave."

Mother and daughter were still staring at him as the heavy door closed. When he turned around, Malik snapped, "well? Are we going to treat your daughter or let her wounds become infected?"

It was easier to maneuver her back onto the table to treat her when she's not struggling. As Malik cut open her pants (after making sure the door was barred), he said, "You are not the only one with damning secrets."

Muzahim and Sumayya's eyes widened.

"Who?" It was Sumayya who spoke, quiet and awed.

"I can't tell you." Malik said simply. It was a secret he had promised to keep and the fewer people who knew the truth the safer they'd all be. They all knew it which was why Sumayya and her father both nodded. That, as far as Malik was concerned, was the end of that conversation. "We should treat your wounds," he said insead and went to get the salve and the bandages.

~ + ~

Malik didn't have time to dwell on the revelation of Sumayya's sex. It was as it had been when he found out about Altair: life simply went on.

If anything, Malik was more troubled by the fact that his schedule had been suddenly changed without his input.

He frowned at the head healer, who had been immune to being intimidated since before Malik had begun his training.

"Why am I being moved?"

The head healer set the pestle that she had been using to grind medicine to the side. "It may be nothing." Then it was, "but I suspect that your talents may be needed there."

~ + ~

Malik clicked his tongue as he reached out to catch the third container of salve that the boy fumbled.

"Foolish boy, be more careful." Malik chided him. He was less sharp than he might have been because the child was only ten and Malik made it a point not to shout at children (it would not help him to stop being a nervous wreck, at any rate), but he certainly wasn't going to coddle him, "I will make you replace any medicine you break."

Tahir ducked his head, his ears turning red at the reprimand and nodded.

Malik rubbed the bridge of his nose and let out a loud sigh.

The apprentice on the same shift as him was Tahir. He was a slight boy who had yet to grow much in height. He still carried on his cheeks the baby fat of a child, but it was beginning to disappear as he grew older. He was also testing Malik's patience.

It wasn't even that he was bad or stupid, and that was the most annoying thing of all. According to the other healer that worked with him, the child was quite bright and eager to learn, with steady hands. 

"It's nerves," the healer had said, "He gets skittish around other people and then he can't even thread a needle or remember the names of the herbs he needs!"

Which was not a habit you wanted in a healer. Malik said as much. "Perhaps he would be better of doing something else."

Honestly, if skittishness were the problem, Malik wasn't sure why he was the one chosen to help.

(Muzhim had said it was because Malik was good with children, though all he ever heard from the other apprentices was how he was a strict taskmaster.)

~ + ~

When Tahir inevitably did break a jar of salve, Malik made him clean it up and remake it.

But before that, he crouched down in front of the boy with a frown.

"There is no use crying over what's been done." Because Tahir's hands were balled into fists in his clothes and he looked about ready to cry, "if you are sorry for it, then do what you can to fix it."

Tahir bit his lip, then nodded.

"Good." Malik said and straightened up, "now clean up this mess."

~ + ~

There was no telling what the actual reason for Malik being here was until the day Tahir froze when an alpha stepped through the door.

Malik was checking over some stock accounts (one of the merchants was charging them far too much for some of the plants. He would have to speak to the head healer about it), when the door creaked open.

The alpha blinked at Malik, "I don't usually see you on this shift." He grinned at Malik, looking him up and down in a way that made Malik want to throw the book in his hands at the bastard's face.

"What is the purpose of your visit?" Malik asked instead, making the polite words sound cold and unwelcoming.

"Training injury." He said simply, holding up his arm. The gash was shallow and probably wasn't the sort of thing that he needed to run to the infirmary with. "I heard the apprentices could use the experience."

Something fell on the ground with a dull clink and Malik turned in time to see Tahir picking it back up with fingers that shook.

"He is busy right now." Malik said smoothly and arched his brow in a way that was clearly challenging.

"Surely he can spare a moment--"

"He cannot." There was no room for negotiation in Malik's voice, "if you wish to be treated, it will have to be by my hand."

~ + ~

After the man had excused himself, Malik watched Tahir thoughtfully.

"Why are you so afraid of him?"

"I am not." was Tahir's answer, but the way he bit his lip before speaking and the quiet quality of his voice said otherwise.

Malik's eyes narrowed, "What has he done?"

His grip on the pot of slave turned white for a moment before he looked at Malik with eyes shining with tears and shame, "he's--" then he shook his head, "it's nothing. There's nothing anyone can do."

Malik didn't press him for an answer.

(But later, he would ask the head healer, "how long have you suspected?"

"A few days. The healer on shift with him has suspected for longer.")

~ + ~

Malik did not send Tahir away when the alpha came back with his dirty, long looks. He walked in as Malik was stitching up a deeper wound on another brother. Tahir was doing nothing more important than cleaning the shelves.

"I can see you're busy." The alpha said, appearing oh so very pleased with everything, "in that case--"

"Nonsense," Malik said, "Tahir, come here." Tahir came, looking like he was walking towards his execution until Malik held the needle for Tahir to take, "finish here."

"Abandoning me so soon, Malik?" The alpha grinned at him. The man was not a bad sort, old and far too _loud_ with his flirting at times, but he was harmless and respectful enough to refrain when it is not wanted.

"Tahir is more than skilled enough to deal with you."

He left the man in Tahir's care and felt his stare on Malik's back the entire time it took him to walk to the disgusting man who had been harassing his charge.

He must have had some self-preservation instinct because he attempted to leave.

"You do not need to--"

But whatever it was the _coward_ meant to say, it was cut off when Malik caught two of his fingers and bent them back sharply.

"I do need to see to you." Malik said smoothly, was pleased when there was a crack as his fingers broke. He let go and watched the man slump to the floor with a howl of pain, "your fingers are too important to risk having an apprentice look at it."

~ + ~

Later, the head healer said, "Your brother has been informed. I will, of course, support any punishment he deems appropriate." while the red faced alpha's face turned even _redder_ in anger.

When the news reached Kadar, he said, "oh, well. You shouldn't have done that. Really. That was a terrible." without even the slightest hint of conviction. He was far more sincere when he clapped Malik on the back on their way home and asked for all the details of the encounter.

The alpha did not say anything to Malik, not directly. He also did not come back (especially not after Malik had made it clear that if he so much as touched another one of the apprentice healers again he will find himself with something more permanent next time).

When he made it to his shift the next day, Tahir said, "thank you." shyly.

Malik shook his head, "it was nothing. Have you finished organizing the herbs we'll be using today?"

~ + ~

When Altair finally returned, Malik told him about Sumayya (without mentioning her name).

Altair frowned, "I didn't think there were others."

In response, Malik shrugged and said, "Me neither."

It felt like old news now, though Altair was only hearing it, for the first time. It was odd to think about the amount of time that was lost to travelling.

"Well, no matter." Altair titled his head back, "Let us see how much you have improved while I was gone."


	2. Chapter 2

Over the years, Malik spent less time training with Altair as his missions took him away from Masyaf with growing frequency. In his place, Malik had begun to drag Kadar out with him to the clearing. It was a change Kadar did not particularly enjoy.

"You fight dirty." He said once and Malik had sighed at him before sheathing his sword.

"Your enemies will not always fight fair, Kadar."

Kadar tended to get more out of these sparring matches than Malik, who was given the oppurtunity to teach and guide his younger brother (and Malik hoped it would be enough to keep him safe).

As Kadar grew closer to the rank of journeyman, Malik's worry for his safety increased. He began with simple errands, those did not concern Malik. The concern began, the first time Kadar came in with an injury he hadn't gotten from the training ring, when Malik realized that he would not be given easy (safe) missions forever.

On the eve of Kadar's first important mission for the Brotherhood, he had been jittery with excitement. He did not seem to know exactly what the details were, but he was so looking forward to it that he could hardly sleep. He wasn't the only one (though Malik's insomnia had less to do with _excitement_.

Later, during the lull in between bouts of sparring with Altair, Malik wiped his sweat with the back of his sleeve and said, "Kadar says he is going on a mission with you."

Altair nodded, "myself and another Master."

They are standing within arm's reach of each other as Malik's hands tightened on the hilt of his sword, "Promise me you will bring him home."

Altair's hand rose, then hovered uncertainly above Malik's shoulder. Curiously, his palm was turned slightly to the side Malik had long enough to wonder what Altair intended to do before he clapped his hand on Malik's shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze. "He will be safe as long as I am with him."

He took Altair for his word (there was no one more skilled than Altair. If not him, who else could Malik trust with his brother's life?), "don't forget to take your suppressants. You are no help to anyone if you forget."

~ + ~-

A little more than two weeks later, Robert De Sable appeared at Masyaf's gates with an army.

At the moment he arrived, the assassin who had gone with Altair and Kadar was in the infirmary, being treated for serious injuries. Malik's brother was nine-days dead, his body left for the rats in Solomon's Temple. And Altair was racing to Masyaf's rescue.

Malik was aware of none of this, having not been on shift at the time. 

Instead, he had ran out into the city armed and prepared to fight (because, regardless of everything else, Masyaf was his _home_ ). There was chaos in the streets as assassins and templars fought. Malik had ripped his head cover off because it limited his field of vision and because it was a liability, something for the enemy to grab onto and pull.

It was improper, but Malik could live with that. In fact, it may very well have ensured that he would be able to do so.

The lack of an easy marker of his gender, meant that when he stabbed a templar from behind, the assassin he had just saved hadn't realized what he was at first.

They were standing back to back in the heat of battle, their panting breaths _loud_ in spite of the cacophony around them.

"You fight like an assassin." The woman said, grunting when she brings her sword up to parry a strike, "yet you do not dress as one."

"I am not an assassin." Malik said plainly and pivoted around to slash at the enemy in front of her.

~ + ~

At the end, when the army retreated, Malik slung her arm over his shoulders and helped her get to the infirmary.

They were both covered in blood, but she laughed and spoke to him like such a thing was normal.

(An assassin's life was stained in blood, after all.)

Her smile fell, however, when they got to the infirmary. There were many wounded (and many more would come through out the day). But it was not that sight that gave the alpha Malik was supporting pause. It was when Tahir ran up to him, looking harried, but also _grateful_ and said, "we were about to go look for you. There are too many injured--we could use all the hands we could get."

Malik transferred the woman over to a table (and the frown on her face that recognition had brought). He got a few stares for having left his head uncovered but, as far as Malik was concerned, propriety was less important than saving lives. This too was his duty to the Order.

(He tried not to think of how the woman alpha who had spoken so genially to him just moments ago was suddenly not looking at him at all.)

~ + ~

Malik did not witness Altair's execution. (He had been too busy trying to cauterize a severe wound to leave.)

He heard about it as bits and pieces of rumours that filtered in with the infirm.

They said: Al Mualim's favourite had failed. It was he who had brought De Sable's army to Masyaf. They talked about his death and how it was a natural consequence of his trampling over their Creed.

Altair's fall from grace was everything people talked about.

Fear gripped Malik's chest. No one knew what had happened on the mission. All they had were useless details of the aftermath (not a single one of them mentioned what happened to Kadar).

Then there was the alpha who had gone with Altair and Kadar, the one who had lost an eye in Solomon's Temple.

She said, speech slurred by opium, "your brother is dead. He fell to Robert De Sable's blade when Altair left us behind."

~ + ~

Malik wasn't sure how to feel about Altair's execution.

It appeared so simple. His brother was dead because of the decisions Altair made. It should have made him feel vindictive about Altair's death.

(And yet it felt like he was mourning two people instead of one.)

He sat in the infirmary, long after they'd treated the last patient (there was no guarrantee, however, they would all survive. But for the few still on the brink there was nothing more they could do for them), trying to muster up the energy to feel angry at someone.

It was Muzahim who came to him in the end (even though Tahir was the one who had been hovering over him the longest).

"My condolences for your loss."

Malik made a non-commital sound in response.

Muzahim did not sit by him as he sighed. "I understand you may not want to hear this now, but you should start considering the repercussions of your brother's death." Malik kept staring at his feet, though his hands tightened.

"Your brother has allowed you freedoms that many would not have. With him dead, you are now a ward of the Order: you cannot expect that Al Mualim will let you get away with the same things your brother has."

"If there is something you wish to say, then _say it_." Malik turned his head up and glared.

Muzahim shook his head and he looked _regretful_ when he said, "you can marry Sumayya. It would be...convenient for both of you. If you are amenable to it, I will bring it up with Al Mualim and see if he agrees."

It was clear from the surprise on Muzahim's face that _laughter_ , however bitter it was, would be Malik's response. But he did laugh, even tilting his head back until it touched the wall.

"It would be _convenient_." He said, remembering having a very similar conversation before though in a far more humorous context. He closed his eyes against the burn of tears (but in spite of them, he felt hollowed out and empty). "Do what you want. I do not care."

~ + ~

Malik put off going home for as long as he could.

He slept at the infirmary the first night after the attack. His excuse had been that there were too many patients in bad condition. They needed him there.

When he finally went home, it was three days later that the head healer (trailed by Tahir who had been throwing worried looks at Malik all day) came into the infirmary and told him to go home.

He hesitated at his door. Malik's hand was on the door already but it was impossible to force himself to open it.

Slowly, he leaned forward until his forehead hit the door with a soft 'thump'.

He did not want to go in.

It wasn't as if there weren't weeks where Malik lived alone, when Kadar was away somewhere else and even Altair wasn't in Masyaf.

They did not happen so often, but happen, they did (and would have happened more when--if Kadar had risen through the ranks). But he always knew, falling asleep in a silent, empty house, that Kadar would be _back_.

Eventually, Malik straightened. He squared his shoulders and took a deep breath before pushing the door open.

Some part of him had expected the house to be different, somehow. That the silence would be stifling, that there would be some indication that Kadar was _never_ coming back.

There was nothing.

The house was exactly how Malik had left it and that was _worse_ , like Kadar's loss meant nothing.

~ + ~

That night, when he made dinner, he made enough for two.

He had been embarassed the first time Kadar had gone to complete a mission in Damascus and he'd done it by accident.

There was nothing accidentally about the way Malik set the table for two or the way he made Kadar's favourites (he had bought the ingredients ahead of time, to celebrate Kadar's first important mission). He sat on his side, staring over the food to the opposite wall.

The food was warm and smelled delicious, but everything about the setting made Malik's throat close over and his hands ball into fists as he imagined what Kadar might have said about the scene he was making as he cried.

~ + ~

His prescence was required by Al Mualim nearly a week after the siege of Masyaf.

When Malik arrived he was still writing a missive. Malik waited patiently for him to finish (and to acknowledge him). When Al Mualim stopped writing, he set it aside to dry.

"I have been reviewing your marriage prospects. So far there are no advantageous matches so far. I will inform you when I have chosen a husband for you."

Malik bit his lip then, as respectfully as he could, asked, "and if I do not wish to marry?"

Al Mualim sighed (Malik was conditioned to feel _shame_ at the disappointed sound), "I understand your brother has allowed you this freedom. But that was Kadar. I am responsible for your well-being, but, Malik," he said and swept his arm our to gesture towards the large window behind his desk, "I am responsible for the entire Order. I cannot give you the care you require." He nodded, "Better to find you a husband that can take care of you before you are too old to be bear children and continue your family line. As it is, you are old enough that your prospects are few."

Malik knew what he meant by _few_. Most omegas were married before the age of twenty. As it was, only the alphas that no parent would allow their children to marry (who were also eager to prove that Malik could be shown his place with a firmer hand than Kadar's collecting him) were desperate enough to seek his hand in marriage.

Malik sucked in a breath, "What of Sumayya? Muzahim said--"

"You and Sumayya are not a good match." Malik expected some further explanation, but none came. "I will find you a husband soon. There is no need for you to fret."

That was a dismissal if Malik had ever heard one. He was tempted to argue, but loyalty to the Mentor was absolute and deeply ingrained into his very being (even if he cannot be an assassin he can still act the way one should) so he said nothing. Except...

"Is it true that Altair lives?" It had seemed ludicrous, to hear that he was apparently alive after so many had seen him killed (and to know that he hadn't bothered to speak to Malik at all).

"Yes. He has been given a list of nine targets to kill. He will redeem himself through their deaths."

~ + ~

Malik heard, through the grapevine, that Altair had left for Damascus.

It was more than eight days before he returned to Masyaf and, during all that time, the threat of an unwanted marriage hung over Malik's head (along with the slow acceptance that Kadar was gone and would never come back).

So it should have come as no surprise to Altair when the first thing Malik did was punch him when he showed up at their usual spot.

Altair caught his hand with a frown. He ducked Malik's next hit and stepped back, putting distance between them.

"Safety and pea--"

"Don't you _dare_." Malik pulled his hand back with a sneer, "I do not want to hear that from you. What did you want?"

Altair paused (but he would not call it _hesitation_ ). "My suppressants."

"What makes you think," Malik said after a bitter laugh, "that I have any for you? You refused to even show your face until you had any need of me. You _ass_."

Malik wanted very badly to hit him again but a fight now was inadvisable (because if Malik started again he wasn't sure he'd be able to _stop_ ). Instead he pulled off one of the pouch he was carrying on his belt. This, he threw at Altair's head. He hoped it hit him. (It didn't. Altair caught it and that only served to make Malik more angry.)

"You promised to protect him." Malik's words were an accusation, each word measured in tone and delivery to cut sharply.

"I was thrown from the room. There was nothing I could have done." In contrast, Altair's words were impassive (almost dismissive). Malik's entire body seemed to shiver with held back anger and denied violence. Instead, it came out in the way he laughed, short and derisive.

"So you were useless? So much for the best and youngest Master Assassin of our Order!"

That, at least, made Altair glare, "watch your tongue, Malik."

"Or what? You no longer outrank me! You are but a _novice_ , now." He spat the words and was gratified when Altair's lips pulled up into a sneer. He said nothing, because they both know that Malik was right (even if the difference of their _ranks_ had never been an issue between them).

"I am not your enemy, Malik." He did not try to touch Malik (which was just as well because Malik couldn't be sure what he'd do in response).

Malik snorted at that, "You do not need to be my enemy to cause me harm." Then it was, "do not come visit me like this without an invitation again."

"Malik..."

The curious thing wasn't that Altair sounded angry. It was the look in his eyes the split second before it turned to anger, almost like he were _hurt_.

If that were what it was then _good_. Let him hurt as Malik did (to have lost one brother and been abandoned and failed by another).

The anger was exhausting, however, and Malik's shoulders slumped. He dropped to sit on the grass, pressing the heel of his hand to his forehead.

He didn't inted to say more, but when Altair didn't leave, he sighed and said, "I will probably be married soon," and Malik wanted to take the words back the moment they left his mouth. Once he'd admitted it, what Al Mualim spoke of seemed that much more like an immutable reality. It was like opening his eyes and seeing the coming storm. Inevitable or not, it was easier to pretend that things were _fine_ before he acknowledge the inevitability of it. "It will be troublesome for you to visit so casually. People will talk."

"What?" Altair closed the distance between them before Malik could react and crouched beside him. He grabbed Malik by the shoulder, "When? To whom?"

Malik shrugged off Altair's hand with a glare, a clear warning that if Altair valued his limbs he would keep his hands to himself. "Al Mualim says he is considering my prospects." Malik plucked at the grass. When he had been a child, the worst that could happen seemed to be the loss of his future as an assassin. "Apparently I am too old to remain unwed. I do not expect it will be long before that will be corrected." 

He didn't expect anything from Altair in response. Malik wasn't entirely sure why he even brought it up (beyond the fact that, of the two people he talked about these things with he was the only one left.)

There was little Altair could do at any rate. Malik pulled up a handful for grass before letting it fall back to the ground. He was still looking down when Altair spoke.

"...is there any suitor you wish to accept?"

Malik shook his head, "none that Al Mualim will choose."

There was a brief moment of silence, like Altair were struggling with some thought in his head. Then it was, "Then I will ask Al Mualim for the right to marry you." Malik's head snapped up in surprise. Altair took Malik's hand in his. "It is not ideal, but if you are married to me then you cannot be married to an alpha you do not want."

Malik gripped Altair's hand tightly, his heart thudding in his chest. It was not bad as far as plans went, but he frowned and his voice was sharp when he spoke, "You forget that you have been demoted. _Novices_ cannot be married or ask for the hand of an omega."

Altair scowled right back, "That's because novices are children. I am no child and I am a novice in name only."

"It's not going to work." Malik said flatly, throwing off Altair's grip and standing, "there are rules, Altair. The Mentor will not make an exception, not even for you."

"I'll find a way." Altair said firmly, "trust me, Malik. I will not let you be married off without your consent."

Malik shook his head as he stepped back. "Maybe you should stop making promises you cannot keep."

～ + ～

Altair came to meet him in the infirmiry the next day.

He did not hesitate, but _waited_ for Malik to be finished with the brother he was treating (he had hesitated enough, on his way here).

When it was just them in the infirmary, he said, "I've spoken to Al Mualim. He said he will consider it."

Malik snorted, "No doubt it is what he's told all the alphas that ask for the hand of any omega unfortunate enough to not have an alpha to advocate for them." He was not disappointed (to be disappointed one had to have hope in the first place). He focused, instead, on putting his supplies away.

"Malik." Malik looked up at his name. Altair's hand was outstretched and Malik frowned and stepped back from him (and tried not to see the way Altair's hands curled at his refusal of comfort, of any kind of physical contact). Slowly, Altair's hand fell back to his side, "I leave for a mission in Acre, followed by another in Jerusalem. The Master says he will have an answer for me when I return." Then, like a whisper, uncertain and tentative, he said, "Safety and peace."

There was a sigh, then, "I do not know how I will find either."

~ + ~

Malik was not _afraid_.

Kadar had always been candid about the men who came to ask him for Malik's hand in marriage. The first of them had begun showing up when Kadar was seven, thinking either that a child would be easier to convince or that Kadar was old enough to make these sort of decisions.

(It had confused Kadar the first time it happened, because Malik hadn't thought he'd need to explain just yet what the dynamics of their relationship would be. The first Kadar heard of it had been from the alpha who asked for Malik's hand in marriage.)

Their numbers had dwindled the more Malik's personality became well known amongst those in the brotherhood, even more so when he grew older, past the age when most omegas were wed. There were a persistent few that still believed they could break him in like a wild horse. Kadar hadn't repeated their words, but Malik knew the sentiments.

_He just needs a firm hand. His brother was too young to control him. That's why he's so difficult._

Those men hadn't frightened him when he was a child, when Kadar had insisted that any man that didn't have Malik's approval will not have his. The prospect of ending up married to one of them did not frighten him _now_.

It didn't matter to whom the Master decided to marry him to: he would not be cowed.

But Malik hated the wait, hated the uncertainty. Whether he was to be wed to be given to Altair or Sumayya (which was unlikely) or some other alpha in their order, he'd rather _know_ than to be left to guess.

~ + ~

He got his answer after nearly a month of waiting when a novice had been sent to fetch him from the infirmary.

_Al Mualim asks for your prescence._

Altair was already there, clothing still covered in a layer of dust accumulated from extended travels. Malik did not look at him at all, instead, he stood before the leader of their order.

"Safety and peace." Was a murmur from his lips. Omegas were supposed to be _soft_ and deferential. It was exhausting to fake, so Malik didn't bother. He could not manage softness, but he could offer respect for their Order, their Creed and, by extension, the man standing at the head of all of it, "You wished to see me?"

"I have made a decision regarding your marriage prospects." He reached out and took Malik's hand. Altair held up his own hand when Rashid tugged Malik towards him, accepting Malik's hand when it was placed on his. "Having considered all those who had asked to marry you, I have decided the best course of action would be to wed you to Altair."

"There is the matter of your rank." He said, not to Malik but to Altair now, "but you are relearning the lessons of our Creed with each successful kill you make." Rashid nodded towards Altair, "When you have regained your full rank, you will also receive Malik as your wife."

~ + ~

They left together (one assumed because Altair had already given his mission report). There was nothing Malik wanted to say (nothing that he could say now within hearing of everyone), so he walked in silence.

Altair followed him all the way to the infirmary, an unwelcome shadow where not even two months ago, they would have been arguing almost amiably while they walked. When Malik reached for the door, Altair took him by the wrist, stopping him. Malik's glared at him, but there was no reading Altair's expression hidden by the shadow of his cowl.

"I wish to speak to you later."

Malik shook off Altair's hand, "That suits me just fine. There are things I must discuss with you as well. Shall we meet at the usual time?"

Altair nodded and that was all Malik waited for before he went into the infirmary, shutting the door firmly behind him.

~ + ~

Upon arriving at their usual meeting place, Malik said, "well? Whatever you have to say, be out with it."

Altair still hesitated for a moment before he began, "tell me of medicine that could control a man's mind."

That made Malik's brows shoot up, "that is a strange request. What brought this up?"

"One of my recent targets a man named Garnier de Naplouse. He was a doctor. Or, so he claimed." He explained the details of the missions, the men he had seen. "Al Mualim said the ones who are grateful had been drugged. Poisoned. I was wondering if you knew of such drugs."

Malik continued to frown, as if trying to discern Altair's motives for asking even as he answered, "Such medicine does exist though it is nothing we use here. Though I could not tell you more without any sample of what he used." Altair's sound of discontent only made Malik's frown deepen. "But why do you ask? It is not like you to care about these sorts of details."

"The man insisted that what he was doing was for the best of the men under his care--"

Before he could finish, Malik had made a derisive sound, "what you have told me about his methods doesn't sound anything like 'care'. Al Mualim was right to order that he be put down." Altair nodded his agreement. They fell into a lull as Malik stared up at the sky. When he once again looked at Altair, he said, "tell me what happened in Solomon's Temple."

Altair was still wearing his weapons (the ones he was allowed to carry after regaining another rank), but the way he looked, a split seconded after Malik's demand left his mouth, it was like he'd been caught unarmed.

His hood kept his eyes in shadows, but there was no mistaking the way he briefly pursed his lips.

"We arrived in the Jerusalem bureau and then headed for Solomon's Temple. When we entred the temple, there was a man--"

According to Altair, there was no choice but to kill the man. He went on to speak about the events like everything had been _inevitable_ : the face off against Robert De Sable, the crumbling of the wall, separating him from Kadar and Nalkah, the other assassin with them.

"I did what was best in the circumstances. Had I succeeded, had Nalkah followed my lead, there would have been glory enough for all of us."

Malik breathed in deeply. The night are was chilly, but the anger in his chest was _fire_.

"You, Altair Ibn-La'Ahad, are a filthy _liar_." He stepped up to Altair with short, furious steps, "did you think me a fool? I have spoken with Nalkah! I have spoken to Al Mualim! I know what happened in the temple. Moreover, I have known you for many years! I know your nature better than any other!"

(He wasn't sure what he had wanted from this conversation. Maybe it was contrition, some indication that Altair cared about what had happened.)

"Your arrogance is what cost you your rank and me, my brother! If you had acted with more discretion--if you hadn't disregarded the Creed--"

"What do you know of the Creed?" Altair's words weren't shouted, but they rang louder (and echoed more painfully) to Malik's ears for the dismissive ring to them, "What do you know about the decisions an assassin makes out in the field? You are an omega who has never known anything beyond the city walls! You speak of things you know _nothing_ of, you berate me for that which you cannot understand and yet _you_ call _me_ arrogant?"

Malik hit him because he was angry (because he was hurt. Because Altair had always been the only one who didn't treat him like an unruly child who didn't know his place). He did not pull his punch, but the damage was minimal because Altair rolled with it.

What followed wasn't a spar or even a fight. There was no elegance, no purpose in what they did. It was nothing more than a _brawl_ , bloody, relentless and completely _futile_.

When Altair finally managed to pin Malik to a wall, it was done so roughly (so sloppily) that Malik's head snapped back and hit the wall.

"I kept your secret!" Malik screamed at Altair, clawing at Altair's arm and leaving bloody furrows, "All these years! The only reason you're an assassin is because I didn't tell anyone what you really are! You would be no better than a _lowly omega_ , never knowing what true freedom is if I hadn't decided to help you! You would have been just as trapped as I am! Why?" His voice broke on the last question and the sound of it (the very shock of seeing Malik's eyes well with tears), made Altair's eyes widen and the pressure he kept on Malik's chest ease. Malik shoved him hard, then swept his feet from beneath him. He did not go after Altair, but he stood with his hands clenched in fists, "why did I help you? My brother might have lived if I had just betrayed you!" Malik's laugh was wet, filled with the sort of humour felt by people who were a hair's breath from falling into despair, "My brother could have still been alive."

Altair looked away, "Kadar was an assassin. We all walk alongside death. We are all prepared for the possi--"

"Shut up. I don't want to hear your excuses. I do not wish to see your _face_. Your very presence here _offends_ me." Malik took a deep breath, "get out of my sight before I make you."

~ + ~

Malik did not see Altair the next day. He did not even expect to see him the day after that, but there he was, standing at the entry to the infirmary when Malik turned around.

It was early (far too early for anyone to be awake) because Malik had started taking extra shifts after Kadar died. It was a good distraction and it wasn't as if he didn't have more time now that he no longer needed to mend Kadar's uniforms, or cook for two people.

The healer that was supposed to be on shift with him hadn't even arrived yet and it left the two of them alone.

"Safety and peace, Malik."

"Your prescence here deprives me of both." He closed containing the clean bandages with enough violence to make the table shake. "What do you want?"

Altair moved into the room, and it took Malik a moment to realize they were nearly silent. Altair's footsteps were always quiet, but they were easy enough in each other's company that the sort of vigilance required for missions didn't seem necessary.

"We've had our differences over the years," Altair started just as Malik picked up the box to replace on the shelf, "but we've always been on the same side."

Malik could not throw the box, but it scraped against the wood harshly when he shoved it onto the shelf, "I'm starting to doubt that." When he turned to Altair, the tilt of his chin was contemptuous, "Regardless, if you're only worried about whether I will keep your secret, then let me put your fears to rest: while you are unable to keep your word, I am still capable of keeping _mine_." He had imagined it, turning Altair in and watching his fall into _disgrace_. He had imagined Altair with wedding vows choking him like a noose. The great Eagle of Masyaf with his wings clipped, never to know the freedom of the skies again.

He imagined, more realistically, Altair leaving and never coming back.

Malik imagined never having to see his damn face again (he remembered how it had felt, watching Altair's back on that starlit night, knowing with an aching sort of certainty that this was one thing he couldn't give up).

He did not curse his (traitorous) heart for his decision. it was not loyalty or care or friendship that led him to his decision. He was simply being practical. There were worse men he could be married to than Altair.

Altair scowled at the accusation, but didn't verbalize his displeasure. Malik did not know what sort of expression he made because he had turned back to his work. There were no footsteps to signal Altair leaving but seeing how the door hadn't opened (the hinges squeaked terribly. Malik left it as it was: he hated being surprised), he was probably still in the room when Malik added, "wait. There is one more thing," Malik pulled out a book from the shelf to leaf through. He did not actually read it; he only wanted something to occupy his hands, "do not come to me like I am a confidante if you will dismiss what I say when it is not what you want to hear." He lay the book on the table, merely staring at the pictures and words on the page. "If you are looking for some simpering omega to agree with your every thought and action you will not find it in me."

When Altair said nothing in response, Malik only threw the pouch he'd kept on his table at his head. "Here is the medicine you asked for. Take it and get out of my sight."

~ + ~

Altair left Masyaf the next day without a word to Malik about where he was going.

Malik had only known he was gone because Muzahim remarked, "I heard your betrothed had left the city." during a lull in their day.

"I see rumours travel quickly as always." Was Malik's only reply as he made notes on a patient's condition.

"It shouldn't surprise you: you should know by now that assassins gossip worse than old house wives." Muzahim's attempts at levity were half-hearted at best and Malik might have told him to stop bothering ie he hadn't been interrupted. "Are you all right with this?"

Malik shrugged. "What choice do I have? Of my prospects, he is one of the less problematic choices."

Muzahim wisely did not bring up the subject of Kadar and Solomon's Temple, but the unsaid things hovered between them.

~ + ~

Altair's departure from Masyaf did not bring Malik any measure of peace.

His house was still _empty_ when he returned and furthermore, Altair being away from Masyaf did not stop people from talking about their betrothal.

They did not speak to him about it directly, so Malik did his best to ignore it.

But there was no ignoring _Abbas_ when he purposefully cornered Malik in the empty halls.

"My condolences," Abbas started, standing in the middle of a narrow doorway, blocking Malik's way, "I cannot imagine how it must be to be betrothed to _Altair_ of all people."

Malik had never known the exact details of how Altair and Abbas' friendship fell apart. All he knew was that whatever had happened had made reconciliation impossible. It was enough to know that Abbas was not here with sincere intentions. It was, and always will be, another bid to get back at Altair.

That very knowledge made the entire exchange all the more unbearable.

"If you are done wasting my time, then move."

Abbas frowned at him, offended. Perhaps by Malik's lack of manners or perhaps by the fact that Malik did not leap at the chance to speak badly of Altair (Malik would never resort to speaking like that behind someone's back. If he had anything to say to Altair he'd do it to the bastard's face).

"Your insolence is not amusing. Only your brother was willing to tolerate it."

"And _your_ idiocy isn't amusing either." The mention of Kadar did nothing buit fan the flames of Malik's anger until it felt like it'd consume him. "Do not speak of my brother."

Malik saw the way Abbas lifted his hand. The hallway was narrow. There was not enough room for Malik to move away when Abbas shoved him. His back fell against the wall because there was no space and because Abbas was stepping forward and Malik did not want to be so close to the foul man.

"You do not know your place." The words were a growl as he pointed at Malik, "had Al Mualim married you to me, I would have already started teaching you the lessons your brother was too weak-willed to." Abbas sneered at him.

On some level, Malik knew the anger he felt grew from other things. It took root in the _unhappiness_ he'd harboured about his position and the missed opportunities. The injustice of his life had given that seed water it until it grew. His brother's support (and Altair's friendship) had been a balm to it, but his brother was _dead_ (and Altair's dismissal, his declaration that Malik was not an equal, but inferior fed the anger).

Altair was far from his reach, but Abbas was there, talking of his brother like he had any _right_ as he reached out to grab Malik by the arm and said, "maybe I should do it anyway. I'm sure your future husband will be _thankful_."

Instead of letting Abbas grab him, Malik snatched up his hand. There was no need to pull it straight because Abbas had already reached out. Then it was a simple matter of positioning his other arm by Abbas' elbow and push--

Abbas' scream when his arm broke with a loud 'snap' was still not as loud as the pounding in Malik's ears (or the memory of Altair telling him he was but an ignorant omega who knew nothing of the world).


	3. Chapter 3

Deep down, Altair knew his reasons for offering to marry Malik were less than altruistic.

He did not marry Malik simply to protect him. It wasn't even that there were few of their brothers who could prove a threat to Malik.

Malik's loyalty, whether he was aware or not, was not to the Order. He believed in their Creed (had always believed it and lived by it ever since he was a child), and he believed in their mission. But he didn't need the Order to live by the Creed. He did not need the Order that had barred him from combat to complete their mission. Malik's ties to the Order, to Masyaf were tenuous at best, especially now that Kadar was gone.

He had simply not yet realized the truth of it, that the years he spent helping hide other omegas would benefit him if he chose to leave and pretend to be an alpha.

But Altair was aware of it and, had Malik been married to an alpha he did not want, against his own explicit wishes, he would be too.

He would not leave Malik to the mercy of an unwanted marriage, but he also could not stomach the thought of losing Malik forever.

(And he remembered, with crystal clarity, the look in Malik's eyes as he talked of being trapped, of not having freedom and he hated himself for being another chain tying Malik down.)

~ + ~

Altair returned to Masyaf with troubled thoughts.

The reassurance that the Apple of Eden was not in Templar hands was short-lived. Right before Altair was dismissed, Al Mualim said, "while you were away from Masyaf, your betrothed had gotten into a fight with a brother of our order."

Altair did not react outwardly to the news. Training injuries were inevitable, but the Masters had always dealt harshly with fights outside the ring. Theirs was a brotherhood and brothers did not deliberately injure brothers. The punishment varied depending on the offense and the age of the offenders. It was not often that an omega was punished for hurting an alpha.

"In the absence of anyone more fitting, I had meted out punishment to him as I saw fit."

"What was his punishment?" The question was toneless, but the look in his eyes would have sent a lesser man running.

"The same punishment used for any omega who breaks the peace: I had him sent to the ducking stool."

~ + ~

Altair had nearly drowned when he was younger. It was before his first heat (not long after Malik had been pulled out of training).

It had been years ago, but the memory of the event were still fresh in a way that made him nervous around any body of water he didn't know for sure wasn't higher than his waist despite being able to swim now.

It was still fresh enough that he could still easily call up the sense memory of drowning, the _panic_ of being unable to breathe, the burn of water in his eyes and nose.

The memory of the water closing around him always made his hands shake and his teeth grind. The thought of Malik being lowered into the water, over and over while strapped to the ducking stool combined with those memories, made his blood boil.

~ + ~

He did not go to the infirmary, but stalked the halls of Masyaf, listening to the inane chatter of the men and women who walked them.

Al Mualim hadn't given him a name ("The matter has been settled." he said), but with Altair's return, the gossip had started up again and Altair found out anyway.

_Abbas_.

Years ago, they had been friends, though that friendship had broken long before even Malik had been found to be an omega.

Altair knew, just as surely as everyone who knew their history did, who Abbas meant to provoke with his actions.

The fact that Malik had fought back, despite not having Kadar's blessing and protection, must have come as a surprise (Altair almost wished he could have seen it, the moment Abbas realized that Malik was not going to lie down and let himself be trampled like dirt).

Altair was _proud_ when he finally found Abbas and saw that his arm was in a sling, with a painful looking bruise on his jaw. It seemed paltry compared to what Malik had to suffer as a result, but it was satisfying to know that he had been no match for Malik.

But he was still _angry_ and it must have shown because when Abbas whirled around as Altair dropped to the ground behind him, he went pale.

Abbas opened his mouth, perhaps to spit out some foul words, but before he could give them voice, Altair had hit him. His fist cracked across Abbas' jaw, aiming for the still-healing bruise on his face, then twisted his body the other way to backhand him. A cloud of dirt and dust rose when Abbas hit the ground only to be further disturbed when Altair dragged him back up and hit him in the stomach, making Abbas gasp.

Altair did not speak. He did not level threats or insults at this _cur_ that thought he could lay his hands on Malik and get away with it. Altair hit him because there were no words that could properly convey how he felt both about the fact that Malik's fate was out of his hands (about how he had never, not once, managed to protect Malik, not from discovery, not from the alphas who thought they could ask for ownership of him, not from losing the only person who had ever had the power and inclination to protect him from the trappings of his sex). He hit Abbas until his blood painted Altair's knuckles because all this had happened while he was on the road from Acre to Jerusalem, because he couldn't stand between Abbas and Malik or even between Malik and the ducking stool, but he was going to make sure that everyone knew that, whatever the Master thought, Altair would not _condone_ these actions.

He stopped only when Abbas' face was a mess of blood and bruises already turning dark. Then he let the worm go, to slide to the ground with a whimper.

There wasn't anyone else in this area when Altair decided to attack, but there was one now, a female alpha in the white uniform of an assassin, pristine in a way that only happened when they hadn't just returned from a mission and hadn't taken a turn in the sparring ring. From her uniform it was clear she outranked them both (at the moment, though she was about two ranks below Altair's original rank).

He let his arms fall without it being an action of backing off, as the newcomer's hazel eyes took in the scene, her expression unreadable.

Abbas pulled himself up far enough to croak, "look at what he did! Look--" He heaved a breath, but the assassin did not look at him in pity or concern. Her face was impassive, but the look in her hazel eyes were _disgusted_.

She jerked her heads towards the high stone steps Abbas had come down from before Altair ambushed him.

"I saw that you fell. It was all very tragic, but perhaps in the future you will tread more carefully. I'm sure you can see yourself to the infirmary."

~ + ~

The assassin with hazel eyes followed Altair as he left.

Before he could lose her, she said, "My name is Sumayya." She tilted her head thoughtfully, "you are the other one he was protecting, aren't you?" The words were chosen with care, so that any who hear it will not be able to guess at what she spoke of.

But there was no doubt in Altair's mind of what she meant.

"I do not have to be, to react like this."

Sumayya nodded, "I do not doubt it, but it would explain a few other things." Before Altair could ask what those things were, she went on, "you should go see Malik soon."

"He will not want to see me."

She frowned at him, "He hasn't been sleeping and not even the head healer has been able to bully him into resting. He's going to collapse at the rate he's going if no one interferes."

Altair snorted, "What makes you think he will listen to me?"

"Because the two of you are matched in stubbornness." She said easily, but it looked like there was something she wasn't saying, but she shook her head and excused herself without saying it.

~ + ~

The infirmary hadn't been on Altair's list of places he wanted to visit. He had, in fact, planned to avoid any place Malik was likely to be.

But he found himself standing at the doors to the infirmary all the same. He hadn't been _hesitating_ when the doors creaked open and a surprised healer (an apprentice judging by his age), jumped back when he found someone standing there already.

He murmured a greeting, but his eyes were already scanning Altair over like it was a habit rather than a conscientious action. There was recognition in his eyes and the way he pursed his lips like he was going to ask Altair to leave if he didn't need anything.

"Well, who is it? Either send them in if they need something or send them away." Malik's voice came from beyond the door, sounding irate and not at all tired. "Stop wasting time by standing there."

Another voice sighed, "need I remind you, that I am in charge of this shift? You may outrank me but you are supposed to be home, not here."

But Malik didn't make a reply that Altair could here and, before the apprenctice healer could make Altair leave Malik opened the door more fully. He narrowed his eyes at Altair and Sumayya had been right, Malik did look _exhausted_.

Inspite of that, he looked Altair up and down, more sharply than the apprentice did. 

"What are you doing here?" He asked, crossing his arms. The apprentice, looked between the two of them as Altair tried to figure out how he was supposed to speak to Malik.

Abruptly, Malik fell forward with a push from the healer behind him. Altair caught him, by the arms as the healer said, "go home. Get some sleep. You are useless to us if you fall over." She tilted her head towards Altair, "make sure he doesn't return until morning." Because the senior healers, despite being omegas were allowed to order novices around and from the distaste in her expression it was clear that she was rubbing it in his face that she now out-ranked him.

Then she pulled the apprentice back inside and shut the door.

Malik pushed away from Altair with a glare, first to him then to the door to the infirmary. There was less light out in the halls, but still enough for Altair to see the way Malik's shoulder sagged, and his hands clenched.

There were a number of things he could have said. He could have repeated the words of the healer and Sumayya, about how he wasn't sleeping. He could have told Malik, in detail, what had happened been done about Abbas. (He could bring up what happened last time.)

Instead, what he said was, "it has been a while since we've raced."

The words must have surprised Malik, because he looked confused (and also suspicious).

Altair pointed down the hall, "the finish line will be the top of the east tower."

~ + ~

They had done this before in the past. Always, before they began there would be some agreement of what would happen if one of them lost.

They did not bother with it this time. The race simply started and then there was nothing but the rush of cold, night air against their cheeks as they ran and climbed.

Malik must have been exhausted, there was simply no hiding it when he stumbled at times, at places that he should not have. But Malik wasn't the only one. Altair had just returned from his missions. He hadn't even found the time to change out of his robes (covered with the dirt of travel), let alone rest his body.

Still, Malik pulled ahead with all the determination of someone who had something to prove (though what he was trying to prove and to whom were questions as yet unanswered).

He was already at the top of the tower when Altair pulled himself up. His chest heaved with every breath he pulled in as Altair stood up.

"Who put you up to this?"

Altair shrugged, "Sumayya said I should come see you."

"I'm sure this isn't what she meant for you to do." He said. They are standing at the very top of the tower, so high up that the only shadows were their own. They were alone up here and the world seemed so very _small_ and distant. Malik sighed, "I don't want to go back."

Which was just as well, because Malik looked close to collapsing and Altair wasn't sure he could make it down even by climbing the ladder (which he was sure Malik would refuse to use).

"No one will be inside the tower this late at night." He suggested instead, "we can be gone by morning."

Whether it was because of exhaustion or some other reason, Malik nodded his agreement. The climb down to the nearest entry point took no time at all. Malik's landing was unstable, and he swayed very slightly before he straightened up. His feet took the path laid out by the wood (stretching out from the tower for assassin's to perform the leap of faith from), away from the sky and back inside the tower.

He turned and slid down the wall until he was sitting. Malik's head was tipped back and his eyes were closed. He didn't bother to open them even as Altair's boot scuffed (purposefully) against the stone floor as he walked.

"I'm sure you must have heard about my punishment by now." He said, without moving.

"I have." He remained standing in front of Malik, stopped barely two feet from him. "I went to find Abbas."

Malik's eyes opened to fix him with an unimpressed look. "I do not need your help."

Altair crouched down in front of him. "I know." And maybe it bothered him, that Malik had never _needed_ to rely on him. Whatever Malik saw in his expression made him frown and curl up tighter.

"I don't need your pity either."

The breath Altair let out was frustrated as he said, "I have never pitied you." That much, he could say with certainty. There was little about Malik that was pitiable. He was trapped in a role he did not want, but there was no point in offering pity where it wasn't wanted. Not when Malik lived his life how he saw fit in spite of the restrictions put on him.

Not when Malik had never thought himself worthy of pity.

Even now, exhausted to the point of collapse, without a single alpha to protect him, he was still defiant and _angry_. Though it softened as he looked at Altair (and he wondered, what was it that Malik saw?).

Malik snorted, then stood to walk to the pile of hay kept in the corner. "I'm going to sleep. Don't bother me."

~ + ~

Altair had slept sitting up. It was a position he was used to when travelling that it didn't bother him. But whenever he slept like that, he always slept lightly, so he stirred at the faintest sound of Malik shifting. He opened his eyes and watched the way Malik curled in on himself. His breathing was uneven and he had begun to thrash when Altair made his way over. His brows were pinched and Altair hesitated before he smoothed a hand over it, brushing his thumb over the centre where the crease was deepest.

There were assassins who had nightmares after their first kill, and ones who suffered from them after escaping captivity (after escaping torture). It was not unheard of for them to go to the healers for sleeping draughts.

Surely, Malik had brewed them before, and, just as certainly, he wouldn't have taken them.

His eyes opened, blearily, and Malik looked like he was still mostly asleep as Altair moved his hand to the side, making a quiet shushing sound he remembered his own father making when he was trying to coax Altair back to sleep. Slowly, Malik's eyes drooped again and his breathing evened out and deepened.

Altair sat on the floor beside him, smoothing his hand over Malik's face, watching the way Malik turned towards the touch, his frown easing the longer Altair petted him. He leaned towards the warmth Altair offered. His sigh was a soft breath against his palm, wet and warm.

~ + ~

Malik was already awake by the time Altair opened his eyes. He had laid himself out beside Malik at some point in the night, it seemed, because he was lying down as Malik looked down at him from where he was sitting. He had a hand on Altair's hair that he jerked back when he realized Altair was awake.

He stood before Altair had the chance to do more than sit up.

"This does not make us even." Malik said and Altair knew that already.

(There was something like an apology at the tip of his tongue, but it seemed _useless_ and why should he say it when it would change nothing?)

He hated that he couldn't say the words, but, once again, there was something in Malik's expression that eased (as if he had found something he'd been searching for), but Altair didn't have the time to analyze it before Malik turned away. "Safety and peace." He said.

Altair watched as he walked out the plank, his arms spread as he tipped his head back, no doubt breathing in the morning air. This was not a new sight. Altair had been the one to teach Malik the leap of faith, but practice always happened at night, under the light of the moon.

It was the first time Altair had seen this sight during day light.

(He wondered what sort of expression Malik was wearing, about the shadow and glow the morning light would have left on his features.)

Malik did not linger long, he took the last few steps quickly, then jumped before finally disappearing from Altair's sight.

~ + ~

Later that day, Altair showed up at the infirmary. It was habit that had Malik looking over him for injuries as Tahir glared at this interloper who had no doubt come to waste their time.

Altair did not smile, but offered the most hesitant greeting of, _safety and peace_.

"Safety and peace," Malik returned. "What ails you, brother?" He said while getting back to his work since he was sure the answer was 'nothing'.

"I came only to tell you I will be leaving for two missions: one in Acre and the other in Damascus."

"Are there any supplies you're missing?"

"No. I merely wished to--" But whatever Altair meant to say was bitten back and it was _different_ for Malik to see that Altair seemed to be doubting. Malik stopped what he was doing to look up again. "I did not want to leave without a word."

_Again._

Altair's words left Malik feeling off-kilter and he didn't know how to respond at first. (He thought of the morning, the expression on Altair's face like a supplication for something he didn't think he deserved.) He turned back to his work and said as steady as he could, "You do not owe me anything like that." Then, in contrast to that sentiment, he asked, "When do you leave?"

"Tomorrow."

Malik sat there, his quill poisoced over the ink as he counted the days in his head. He nodded and dipped the quill into the ink. "Come by at the usual time. There is something I must give you before you go."

He did not see if Altair reacted (if he nodded, if he were frowning, or if his expression fell). Malik heard the moment the doors of the infirmary creek open and close.

~ + ~

When Altair came by in the evening, Malik pushed a small leath pouch into his hands.

"It is mine." Malik said, "on such short notice I could not buy all the necessary ingredients. I will tell them I dropped it in the river and get some more."

Altair's hand closed over the pouch of herbs like he intended to give it back to Malik who, as if already knowing Altair's intentions, crossed his arms. "There are sixteen days still."

"It is at least fourteen days worth of travel from Masyaf to Acre, to Damascus then back." Malik said flatly, "What will you do if there are any delays? Do not be an idiot, Altair."

The insult made Altair frown. But still, he put the pouch away with a quiet word of thanks that caught Malik by surprise. In all the years they had known each other, Malik could count on one hand the number of times he'd heard Altair give thanks in earnest.

He stepped back, his frown only deepening instead of giving way to something else. But now, after the anger he felt towards Altair (and the numbness over Kadar's death) had faded, it was easy to see that Altair was troubled. "What is on your mind?"

The question seemed to jerk Altair out of his thoughts (and in the same way Altair's sudden change in attitude left Malik off-kilter, Altair regarded the sudden care Malik took in his life with some trepidation).

He opened his mouth as if he meant to say, _it is nothing_ before he shut it again. When he finally spoke, it was, "Al Mualim tells me all the men I have killed are working together. Sacarens and Christians, all united under Robert De Sable's banner."

Malik thought about the implications of that, of the fact that Robert De Sable had been able to secure the loyalty of men whose ideals should be conflicted and make them work together. "That is grave news indeed if it is true."

"It is. Their dyings words support what the Master has told me."

"What is it they seek? How could Robert De Sable have offered these men to unite them?"

"Power and control. They wave the banner of peace while intending to control the minds of men. The Master tells me that they had intended to use the Templar's treasure to accomplish their goals."

"Then it is fortunate that they no longer have it." Malik hesitated. Unsure if Altair was speaking to him because he did not understand the purpose of discretion or because he trusted Malik that much, Malik assumed the worst and huffed, "but should you be sharing what the Master has said to you with another so easily?"

The way Altair only chuckled did not improve his mood, "you have kept my secret all these years." He did not add, _even when you didn't believe I was worth the trouble_. There was a pause, barely noticeable where the unsaid words died. Then he went on, "What is one more?"

Malik shook his head and decided he no longer wanted to think about Altair or his motives, or the exhausting secrets he intended for Malik to keep. "You'd best go rest. You have a long journey ahead of you."

"It is not so terrible." Altair did not elaborate further but said, "safety and peace."

Malik did not return the farewell and the words were caught in his throat, choking him as he stared at the place Altair had been standing not even moments before.

~ + ~

The time Altair spent away from Masyaf was fairly peaceful.

There was talk of Altair's attack on Abbas (a lot of it and after Malik saw the state of Abbas' face, he could understand why).

The talk wasn't important to Malik, exactly. It was related to him, but there was little about the speculations of how many times Altair had hit Abbas that interested him at all.

Instead, he started talking to the assassin's who came into the infirmary.

It started with a journeyman who had recently returned from Damascus who had pulled the stitches in his sides on the ride back.

As Malik cleaned his wounds, the young man complained about the heightened security. "The guards are afraid. One cannot run through the city wearing white without attracting attention. People are even giving the scholars a wide berth!"

Malik wiped the blood off his skin and thought about Altair's words and the worries that plague his thoughts.

"Tell me more about the state of the city." Then he added, "please." Because he was not in a position to command anyone, "I would like to hear about it."

The young man flushed at the attention (and Malik might have rolled his eyes because he was an omega well passed the age his sex are normally married. It was ridiculous to be flattered by his attention).

"What did you want to know?"

~ + ~

He gathered bits and pieces of information like that, from the assassins who came in and out of the infirmary during his shift. It was Sumayya who came to him to ask, "is there anything you want me to look out for?"

She shrugged at Malik's frown. "You have been asking questions. I will be leaving for Jerusalem tomorrow. If there is anything you wanted to know, I could try to find out for you."

He stared down at his books for a moment and thought about it (all that he had heard the last few days and Altair's warning the night before he left).

"I want to know about the state of the city. How has the recent assassinations affected both the people and the opinions about our work."

Sumayya nodded, "I will do what I can."

~ + ~

It was just over two weeks when Altair finally returned to Masyaf. Altair's return was always followed by the whispers about him. At first it was digs at his loss of rank and jeers about the menial tasks the more senior brothers had asked him to perform from cleaning armour to sharpening weapons. Now, as he slowly regained his rank, those sorts of whispers slowly disappeared as the awe and jealousy which he evoked in the others as he rose through the ranks the first time started to return.

In addition to that, there were all the knowing looks being sent Malik's way. Like they were assuming Altair's first order of business after reporting to Al Mualim would be to find Malik and ravish him (it seemed their night in the East tower had sparked the idea that they had consummated their relationship outside of wedlock).

They were correct about half of it, at least, because Altair did show up at Malik's door, still dressed in his assassin's robes and covered in the dirt of travel.

There was also a red stain on his side that made Malik click his tongue and pull him inside.

"Is this all right?" Altair asked, hesitating for half a breath before following the pull of Malik's hand.

Malik shrugged, "it seems someone saw us leaving the tower even if it wasn't together. For a while, all the rumours talked about how we had already slept together. At this point, I don't see what further harm this could do."

When Altair stepped through the door, Malik shut it behind him. He walked easily to the pile of pillows at the corner and dropped down on it.

Altair stared at him without moving before Malik huffed in annoyance and gestured at the free space beside him.

"What? Do you require an invitation?"

The words were acidic, but they brought a faint smirk to Altair's mouth. He sat down, more heavily than Malik (he had just returned).

"Have you taken your suppressants?"

"I have." Altair stretched his shoulders with a groan, "I returned in time. There was no need for you to have given it to me so early."

Malik kicked him in the shin, "it is better to be safe, you bullheaded fool."

Instead of being offended, Altair only let out a short laugh that made Malik frown (but his eyes were bright with a familiar sort of fondness that Altair had _missed_ ). Slowly, the laughter disappeared from Altair's expression.

"You're right." Altair said as he sat up, turning so he was facing Malik, "I _am_ a fool."

"I did say as much." Malik cocked his head and stared, as if trying to discern what Altair meant. But Malik had never had much patience for these sorts of games so he said, "but I feel as if we are no longer having the same conversation. What brought this on?"

There was that _look_ again, like in the tower, like the day before Altair left for Damascus. It was guilt and something else, something just as foreign on Altair's face, that robbed him of his assuredness.

He licked his lips and Malik's gaze was momentarily dragged to his lips by the motion. He was still thinking when Altair said, "All this time, I never told you I was sorry." He laughed again and the only humour in it this time was the kind that was self-deprecating. "Too damn proud. Your lost your brother as well as the freedom and safety he had offered you. All because of me." It was difficult to see how Altair would not meet his eyes, the way he sat on his knees like he were begging while his shoulders hunched like he expected to be beaten.

Malik thought, again, of the things he had lost and the things he would not wish to lose. (He thought of starlit nights and Altair's hand on his shoulder, calling him _brother_ and the way he had looked, aching and lost in the early morning light filtering into the east tower).

He said, "I do not accept your apology."

Altair sucked in a breath that was so soft as to be inaudible. He said, "I understand." Like admitting defeat.

Malik's smile turned rueful as he teached out to touch his shoulder, the gentlest touch he had offered Altair since Solomon's Temple. 

"No, you don't." Malik made a conscientious effort to not look away, "I cannot accept your apology because you are not the only one at fault."

His fingers twitched, tightening their grip on Altair's shoulder as if compelling Altair not to look away either. There was a wide eyed look on his face, both confused and in awe, hopeful and worried to be, as if he weren't sure what he was supposed to feel.

"I condemned you for your arrogance, but before that I had been content to feed it. I was angry at the alphas who had cast me out. I wanted them to be beaten, to be humiliated as I had been and I was _glad_ that you were doing it. I _wanted_ you to stand above them. But more than that, I wanted you to rub it in their face that they are inferior." He swallowed painfully and thought, _if I had stopped you maybe my brother would still be alive_. It was not a pleasant thought, but it had been three months since his brother died. It was long enough that he no longer had an excuse to not be honest with himself about this. "I am as much to blame for what happened."

Malik was startled when Altair took his hands in a tight grip.

"Do not say such things." The vehemence of the sentiment was not what caught him off guard, but the vulnerable edge to it. And he thought, scrutinizing Altair's expression, martyrdom sat oddly on his face.

His chide, when Malik figured out what he meant to say, was gentle but firm.

"You cannot deny me my part in all this, not if you meant what you said about not pitying me. I am as fallible as you are." Malik did pull his hands away, but so he could clasp Altair's forearm. "We are one. As we share the glory of our victories, so too should we share the pain of our defeat. In this way we grow closer, we grow stronger."

And maybe what he had meant to say was: _do not deny me this. Even if I can never stand at your side as an equal, let us be equals_ here _and in this._

There was no reading Altair's expression when it was bowed, but Malik thought that might have been for the best. No doubt, Malik's own expression was far more vulnerable than he'd care to admit. It was better that neither of them could see the other's face in this moment.

"Thank you, brother."

Malik looked away, allowing Altair a moment to compose himself. It felt like forever before Malik was once again free to pull his hands to himself.

"You said you had some doubts. If you will, share your burdens with me."

~ + ~

When Altair was done, the candle Malik lit had burned halfway down. He stared at the wax trickling down its side.

"You spin a strange tale." He said, finally.

"It is no story." Altair turned where he had sat on the pile of cushions, close enough to Malik that their shoulders brushed, "these are the supposed truth I have heard from the men whose lives I have taken."

"And what has Al Mualim said about this?"

"He says though their goals sounds noble, the means by which they'd achieve it are not." Altair said, still staring down at his hands.

"I have been speaking to other assassins." Malik said, leaning back with a frown. He did not look, but he could feel Altair's attention on him, "The people of the cities are divided on the matter. Because of it, their reactions to our efforts are divided as well. We have been killing men on both sides of this conflict. We are playing a dangerous game by making enemies of both sides," Malik tilted his head, "the question is: what do you plan to do about it?"

"I will not know until I have more information. I have been ordered to take the life of Robert De Sable. I hope to learn more about this from him." Altair frowned, "there is something we're missing, Malik."

"I do not doubt that there is." Malik tapped a finger on his knee before reclining further in the pillows, "I will try to find out what I can. Sumayya should be in Jerusalem looking for more information. If you see her before she returns you should ask her for it."

There was no response at first from Altair. It made Malik frown at him, though before he could voice his questions, Altair said, "actually. There is something I wish to ask of you."

"Be out with it."

Altair turned to him then, with his lips pressed into a flat line of determination.

"Come with me to Jerusalem." 

~ + ~

The fact of the matter was, the only person who ever had the right to take Malik from Masyaf was Kadar (and he might have done it too, if he were ever reassigned to one of the other cities. Or even if he was not. The idea that he'd take Malik to see the world wasn't exactly unimaginable).

Now, he was a ward of the Order. Taking him away from Masyaf without permission was tantamount to _kidnapping_

~ + ~

"I cannot--" Malik sat up, "the Master will never agree. The bureaus most certainly have their own doctors. There is no reason for him to agree to let me go."

Altair nodded, "then it is good that I do not plan to ask for permission."

Malik let out a strangled sound, "Altair, have you learned nothing? You cannot be so selfish! The Creed--"

"The Creed has nothing to do with this." Altair's words were sure as he placed a hand on Malik's shoulder, "I need someone I trust, someone who believes that what I said has merit. None of the others whom I have spoken to have believed me. Especially not the rafiq of Jerusalem. You are the only one who can help me."

"If we are caught--"

Malik stopped because Altair's eyes had gone cold. His grip on Malik's shoulder tightened, "I will not allow you to be punished again. If we are caught, we will tell them it was my idea, that I had taken you against your wishes."

A sigh, "That was not my concern." Then Malik shook his head, "you are not going to let this go, are you?"

"I will not force you come. But, Malik, I _need_ you." 

The words made Malik's heart leap and he wasn't sure why for a moment. Perhaps it was because he had never been trusted, not like this. He was trusted with healing others, but to be trusted, as an ally, as a confidante, as an _equal_ was new and probably accounted for the skip in his heart rate.

"...you are mad." Malik said, finally, "you are stupid and if we're caught, we're both going to be punished."

~ + ~

The creak of the infirmary doors was loud, but the shuffle of the head healer's footsteps was familiar so Malik didn't look up from what he was going.

"You've been busy." She remarked as Malik finished bottling the last of the ointment he'd made. "Planning on going somewhere, boy?"

There was no hiding why he had gone ahead and completed all the work he was supposed to do in the coming weeks, so he only nodded.

The head healer sat down on a chair.

"Do you have permission to go?"

"Yes." A lie, but a necessary one. They were both quiet for a moment. Malik was busy making sure he had done all he needed to and the head healer watched him quielty.

"You are a terrible liar." She said finally, then sighed, "this sounds like the half-baked plan of your betrothed."

Malik said nothing and just kept working.

"Do you trust him that much?" She asked as he closed the book in his hands and slid it back onto the shelf.

His fingers lingered on the spine as he thought about his answer.

"I do."

There was another sigh behind him and Malik turned in time to catch the way the head healer shook her head.

"If you of all people are saying that, then I suppose there is nothing I can say to dissuade you. Come back safe. Do not let that fool of an alpha talk you into anything more insane than this."

"He cannot talk me into any course of action I have not decided for myself." Malik said, "Safety and peace."


	4. Chapter 4

"You cannot leave with me through the front gates." Altair drew a map in the sand for Malik, "the guards will notice if someone is leaving with me."

And no one must know Malik was leaving Masyaf with Altair. They were only betrothed, not married. Altair did not yet have the right to take Malik anywhere without the Mentor's expressed permission.

"The guard here." He indicated the location with a stick, "will be easy for you to bypass."

Malik raised his brow. "Should we leave incompetent men to guard our walls?"

"He is not incompetent." The map disappeared with a sweep of Altair's feet, "but you are better."

~ + ~

Altair met up with him outside of Masyaf's walls. He handed Malik a bundle of clothes.

Malik hesitated when he unravelled them and found them to be assassin's robes.

"I am supposed to wear this?"

"It is easier to move around. No one will question your presence the way they would if you are wearing this," he reached out to touch the fabric covering on Malik's head, "in the cities."

There was no reason for Malik not to strip off his clothes and change into the borrowed (possibly stolen) assassin's robes Altair had given him. The very idea of modesty was laughable in this situation. He and Altair were both omegas, both male, despite their status as betrothed.

The noise of surprise Altair made (like someone had just punched him in the chest) made Malik pause with his hands on the ties of his pants. Altair was gaping at him and Malik snapped, "what?" Malik didn't actually need an answer so he went back to changing.

He felt Altair's eyes on him, but ignored it as best he could.

Years ago, he had dreamed of receiving this very uniform. It was ironic that the first (and probably only) time he donned one, it wasn't even his.

He fumbled with the straps of the hidden blade (both because they were unfamiliar and because it was not something he had _earned_ ), until Altair stepped close to fasten it for him.

When he'd finished, Altair reached up and pulled the hood over Malik's head.

He stepped back, his fingers a lingering pressure at the sides of Malik's hood. Altair was staring and Malik, instead of looking away, met his stare evenly.

The edge of Altair's mouth quirked up, "How does it fit?"

Malik rolled his shoulder, testing the tightness of the harness and the way the robes stretched and moved with his movements. "It's a bit tight around the shoulders."

~ + ~

Later, when they broke for camp, Altair said, "don't move like that."

Malik frowned at him from where he's tying his horse down. "Like what?"

"Like you are an omega pretending to be something you're not." Altair gestured gestured at the entirety of Malik's body, "you are an assassin. If you do not walk like you believe it, you will not be able to fool the others."

"Should I walk like you then?" Malik did not sneer, but there was definitely a caustic note in his words. When he walked towards Altair there was a deliberate sway to his hips (though it was not as ridiculous as Altair's gait). "Like this?"

Altair took a moment to swallow (perhaps it was his pride?), "no. Just stop acting like you're pretending. You _are_ an assassin. More so than even some of our brothers."

Malik shook his head. "I am not," he said, "a change of clothing, the addition of weapons can't change that." Then he added, "But I am not new at keeping secrets." 

~ + ~

Omegas generally took suppressants two days before their heat began, and kept taking them up to one or two days after. It helped prevent the worst of the symptoms, but some still lingered during what would have been the worst part of it.

It was different for many people. Some felt lethargic and sick while others felt aches and cramps in their muscles. Malik tended to sleep poorly during those times of the month and, sometimes, dizziness.

He had little ideas of what Altair felt, but it might have to do with the way he kept rubbing a hand over his abdomen.

(Malik might not have even noticed if he didn't know Altair's cycle so well.)

"If you had told me, I would have brought you something for the pain."

Altair looked up from where he was staring into the fire they'd made. He seemed confused by Malik's offer and his hand dropped back to his lap.

"It is nothing." Then, when Malik gave him a judging look, amended, "it is nothing I can't handle. You do not need to worry."

Malik shook his head. "Come here." He said after some time. Altair hesitated, but slowly stood and made his way around the campfire. Malik took his hand and tugged him down into sitting, then manoeuvred him to lie down on the ground with his head in Malik's lap.

"Malik, what are you doing?" Altair seemed confused (and more than a little embarrassed. This man and his stupid, useless pride). In response, Malik only hushed him and rubbed his stomach. There were certain spots that helped relieve the cramps better than others, and Malik had spent a life time learning them and teaching them to others (some silly knowledge that seemed unimportant but made people's lives that much easier especially the ones who felt the cramps worse than others).

But Altair, who had spent his life without meaningful contact with other omegas who knew of his true sex would not have learned such things.

"This works better with oil. It would also work better if you'd relax." There seemed to be quip on the tip of Altair's tongue that he swallowed back with a groan. Slowly, he did relax, his eyes going half lidded as Malik continued with his touches. "You never told me about this." It was not an accusation, exactly, but he would have liked to know.

"I thought all omegas had to deal with this. The others," and by the he no doubt meant the other assassins, 'made it sound like it is normal."

"Well, clearly they are not the experts on this subject."

Altair chuckled, "no, I suppose not."

Malik did not stop until Altair fell into a light dose (the best either of them could hope for in this situation). He thought, when he woke Altair for his turn to play lookout he should also show him where to press to help with the cramps.

For the moment, he let his hand linger on Altair's belly, feeling the rise and fall of it as he breathed.

~ + ~

"But what do you plan to tell the rafiq in Jerusalem? Or am I to sneak into the city the way I snuck out of Masyaf?" Malik asked as they rode the next day.

"It is not safe for you to sleep outside, dressed as you are. The guards have been on alert for anyone who dresses like an assassin."

Malik sighed, "no doubt it is thanks to you." He sounded exasperated, but Altair only huffed a short laugh, "you have not told me what you will tell him."

"That is because I am still thinking." To which Malik could only sigh again, "I didn't exactly plan this."

"But you had enough time to find a uniform close to my size and steal it?"

Altair snorted, "I did not steal the uniform. It is mine." Then he tilted his head to give Malik a cock-sure look, "But I did steal the weapons."

There wasn't even a point in pretending to be surprised. "Of course you did."

~ + ~

It took them ten days to travel from Masyaf to Jerusalem. In that time, Altair provided Malik with all the information he would need to pass as an assassin (and to avoid the guards in Jerusalem). Altair's heat had come and passed and, long before they had arrived in Jerusalem, Altair was no longer on suppressants.

They dismounted at the gate, but instead of taking him through them, Altair gestured for Malik to follow him to a smaller, walled off area of land just beside the gates.

His chest tightened when he saw the graves there.

They were both silent as Altair led him to an unmarked grave.

There was no question of who was buried there (this was the city where Kadar died. It was as much a reason for coming as any other).

"I thought it would be best to bring you here now. There is no telling if we will have time later." When Malik only nodded jerikly, Altair turned to leave, "take your time."

That wasn't a luxury he could afford for himself, Malik thought (it didn't mean he wasn't grateful).

It felt like he stood there forever. When it had first happened, there had been so many things Malik wished to say and they had built up over the last three months. Yet, standing here now, he could only draw a blank. There was never a want for conversation between them. There were always words or stories to share. Kadar had always been very bad at keeping his thoughts to himself so it was natural that they were always speaking.

And yet, right now, Malik had no idea what it was he was supposed to say (it had been over a hundred days. That was a long time to become accustomed to silence).

Taking a shaky breath, he reached out and touched the stone. It was warm to the touch, having absorbed the sun's rays and its heat.

He thought, Kadar had been this warm, once.

~ + ~

Altair did not enter the graveyard again, but waited for Malik to come out.

When he stepped out from the enclosed area, Altair gestured at a group of scholars. "We can enter the city by walking amongst them."

~ + ~

Altair led Malik to where the bureau was (explained to him about how to find one in any city though Malik wasn't sure what he was meant to do with that information). Altair dropped into the bureau first, followed by Malik.

The rafiq was a dour looking man, and he grumbled when he looked at them from where he was weaving a carpet.

"Back already?" He set his work aside and regarded Malik with a frown, "and who is this? I haven't gotten any word of another Master Assassin arriving today."

"He is with me." Altair said while Malik stayed silent, "Al Mualim has some suspicions about the Templars--"

"The same wild suspicions you have spoken to me about?" The rafiq's words were prefaced by a long suffering sigh as if he were tired of this topic already. He did not, however, question Altair. Instead, he turned to Malik, "so Al Mualim sent you to investigate these claims?"

Malik nodded and the rafiq sighed again.

"Well, if it is Al Mualim's will then there is no helping it." He nodded towards Altair, "first, let us speak of your mission."

~ + ~

As Altair went out to find information on Robert De Sable, Malik walked the city and listened.

What he heard agreed with what he had learned from the other assassins (Sumayya was out in the desert chasing her mark so he had yet to speak to her).

But that was the problem. What he heard was nothing he hadn't already heardin some capacity and while it as goo to know it was true he did not know any more than he had before he came.

His wandering feet brought him to where Rober De Sable was staying. ("It is too heavily guarded," the rafiq had said, "you'd be better off catching him outside.") There was nothing to be gained by risking his cover to infiltrate. But before he could walk away, he noticed an older woman come out of the doors. She had the head cover of an omega and, after another look at the place Robert De Sable was (possibly. Assuming he wasn't walking around the city), he followed her.

~ + ~

When Malik returned to the bureau, he was carrying something under his arm. Altair had already returned and gave the bundle Malik was carrying a questioning look.

"Safety and peace." Malik greeted, "I think I've found a way to get into Robert De Sable's lodgings."

"You have, have you?" The rafiq said with a brow raised.

Malik nodded, then gestured towards the back room. "If I may use that room for a moment, I will show you."

He went into the room (with permission) dressed as an assassin. He came out of it in the grey garb of a civillian omega. The head covering on his head was carefully draped in the fashion Altair had seen other omegas wear it.

The rafiq stroked his beared. "Yes," he said finally, "very clever. But how will this help you?"

Malik adjusted the head covering, "There is a pair of older omegas who bring their laundry to the river to wash. One of them has recently broken his leg. There is far too much work for only one person."

"I see. You plan to lend them your aid?"

Malik nodded, "I have spoken to her. I told her that I am recently widowed and looking for work."

"Well, this certainly isn't a plan I'd have expected. I doubt most of our brothers could have made a passable omega." He looked Malik up and down, "I might have been fooled as well, if I didn't know any better." He sounded approving of it (and surprised and Malik ducked his head so no one could see the way he bit back a grin). "Too bad you cannot take this one with you." He said, gesturing towards Altair, "he would never be able to pass as an omega." Then he laughed at his own little joke, "it is good that he has his own plan."

But later that night, Altair said, "I do not like it." They spoke in quiet, hushed voices to avoid alerting the rafiq. "This plan leaves you exposed. The garb of an omega lends you no protection."

"It also doesn't paint a target on my back." Malik added. "Together, we have exhausted the sources available to an assassin. This is the only plan I have left."

Atair sighed at him, "Do not do anything reckless."

"Hah." Malik said and reached out to prod Altair on the side, "It is you who should be worried. After all, you are the one going after Robert De Sable's head."

"I will be fine."

"Such arrogance." Malik murmured, but there was no real heat there, no anger. "Be careful."

Altair nodded, "you as well."

~ + ~

Malik had left ahead of Altair the next morning. The omega woman was at the river at the time she said she would be. Her voice was a sigh of relief when Malik took half of her load. Being the age where she considered everyone a child, she said, "Bless you, child." 

There was a considerably amount of clothing that she hadn't been able to finisht he day before and more that were just given to her. They washed the clothes, then Malik helped her folded then to get them back.

The guards did not give Malik a second glance as he went inside behind her. Hanging the wet clothes to dry was work that was time consuming and Malik did not waste that time. As the omega woman chatted away Malik listened to the guards speak. There was very little of worth, but he had to duck his head when they started complaining about the assassins and how they were like shadows that couldn't be caught. One man, in particular, seemed convinced that they could melt into the very shadows themselves.

When their work was finished, the woman offered to feed Malik, and offer he did not refuse. Yet, at some point, while they walked, Malik began to lag behind and, when the opportunity presented itself, he ducked into a different hall.

His hear was pounding in his chest, but he didn't move until the omega woman's voice and footsteps had faded.

If he were caught now he'd have to depend on whoever finding him to believe he had merely become lost (and there was never any guarrantee he'd be believed).

He let his head rest against the wall as he breathed deeply. He wondered, idly, if it felt like this on everyone's first missions, before he shook off the thoughts: they were unproductive. He listened for the footsteps of guards and, only when he heard none, did he step away from the wall.

~ + ~

Malik did not know exactly what he was looking for, but that was fine because the house, while richly furnished was not terribly large. No doubt only a place for Robert to stay temporarily.

He had gone through the rooms, door by door, before he found a room that looked like a study. The were piles of books on the desk and Malik started flipping through them after closing the door behind him. They were written in French, a language Malik could read with some difficulty. There were ledgers and maps mixed with novels and letters. Nothing that stood out to Malik as useful (there was even a recipe). He was close to moving onto another room when he found a book, hidden at the bottom of a pile of useless papers. He flipped through it breifly and realized it was some sort of journal. He read it more carefully then and felt something like excitement bloom in his chest. The journal appeared to be Robert De Sable's. He chose pages at random to read through, to confirm it was what he needed before he closed it and tucked it away. The book was slim enough that it was easy to hide. He looked at the rest of the books on the desk and lamented that he could not take them all with him. (Because what if he was wrong, what if he missed something else important?)

He might have continued looking through the mess of books if not for the door being opened behind him.

"And what do we have here?"

Malik whirled around and found himself face to face with fucking _Rober De Sable_. For a moment, he felt his breathing shorten and terror seize in his chest. He thought, he'd been found out. He was unarmed and at Robert's mercy. His hand groped blindly on the table for something (anything) he could use to defend himself. He didn't think about killing Robert, but he thought of at least making an opening for him to escape (and a part of him cried out for the blood of the man who had killed Kadar).

But then Robert De Sable smiled at him (in a way that Malik was familiar with. It was the look of a man who thought an omega could never present a threat).

Malik ducked his head, "I apolgize. I got lost and--"

But Robert was staring at his desk with his fingers drumming against his thight. He was still _amused_ but he would not be if he knew what Malik had taken.

Malik licked his lips as his mind raced. "I came for work."

"Oh? And your husband let you out?"

"My husband is dead."

"What a pity." Robert said, while eyeing Malik like he were a _thing_. "But that does not explain why you were going through my desk."

"I--" Malik stalled, pulling his sleeves taught like he'd seen Tahir do when he was nervous.

"You can tell me." Robert said, walking towards him with that same smile that Malik longed to scratch off his face, "I promise you will not be...unduly punished."

The very tone of his voice made Malik's skin crawl. If this were back in Masyaf, Malik would have threatened to break his face if he did not stop looking at him like that. He grit his teeth against that reaction, ducking his head to hide any expression he might be making.

"I was looking for coin."

Robert's smiled turned indulgent (in a way that only made Malik's hackles rise further) and pulled out a handful of coin.

"If it is coin you are looking for, there is some here."

Malik did not want his money. He wanted nothing more than he wanted to spit in the bastard's face, or stab him in the eye. But he had no weapon and he couldn't afford to give away his cover of a destitute omega looking for work, so he grit his teeth and, shuffled closer to take the coin. Right before his hands could touch the metal, Robert grabbed him roughly by the chin. When Malik was made to meet his eyes, he glared.

"You have some pride. That is rare, though not unheard of." Malik did not pull away from Robert's hold, but his entire body was tense with the anticipation of a fight. He remembered, belatedly to avert his eyes (as any good omega would know to do). "But your pride will not fill your belly with food, it will not put a shirt on your back nor will it keep a roof over your head. When you realize the truth of it, you can come here." He turned his hand, let the coins drop on the floor with a tinkle and his smile when he released Malik's hand was _offensive_ in every conceivable way, "I promise I can pay you better than the brothels."

Malik considered his situation (as) logically (as he could). He thought about the Creed, of the brotherhood (his old instructor from the days before he knew he was an omega telling them 'always put the mission first. Always put the Brotherhood first.') He thought of Altair, who had entrusted Malik with the task of finding the truth.

(He thought of Kadar, who had died in this city, some old ruins that no one visits to be his grave and the man who had taken his brother from him.)

With those thoughts in mind, he bent down to scoop up a handful of coins. He straightened and threw them back at Robert and was _pleased_ when one of them hit him on the face.

"I would sooner beg for scraps on the streets than let you touch me." He tilted his head back in clear challenge in the second right before Robert backhanded him.

The action was dismissive, more than it was meant to be hurtful, but the gloves Robert wore raked painfully over his cheek (it took every bit of his self-control to not react to the attack as he had trained to).

"I would be interested," Robert said mildly, "to see who or what will finally break you. You are dismissed."

~ + ~

The prescence of the journal, tucked against his chest did little to smother the anger buring beneath his ribs. It followed him all the way back to the bureau.

The rafiq clicked his tongue at the bruise blooming on Malik's cheek.

Malik allowed the inspection of his wounds with minimal patience (it looked worse than it was). He asked, "where is Altair?" 

"He was back not long ago. You just missed him by an hour. He said he found information regarding Robert's movements today. He has gone to the poor district to complete his mission."

"...where in the poor district?" Malik felt tredipation that only grew when the rafiq gave him the location. "That is impossible." He said, "I saw Robert De Sable at his dwellings in the rich district while I was there. He cannot possibly have made it--"

\-- _to where Altair would be so soon._

But Malik's words are interrupted by the ringing of the city bells and the worry over took the anger as the rafiq closed the grate.

~ + ~

He sat in the connecting courtyard with the journal he had pilfered from Robert De Sable's chamber for want of anything to do. He was gripping the pages with a white knuckled grip, hard enough that the paper crinkled. The words were worrying (there were too many details about their Order that raised alarm bells in Malik's head to echo the ones in the city) and when the city's own bells stopped, he was left with the unsettling knowledge that he can't know if the bells stopped because Altair had lost his pursuers or his life.

He was still reading when the rafiq came to open the grate. He stopped, briefly, when he heard the sound of the grate sliding open, tempting him to go outside, to find Altair. It was illogical. If Altair made it back here, and he was gravely injured, his chances of survival were increased with Malik's prescence here.

He forced himself to stay, to keep reading (but _what if Altair was too injured to make it back?_ What if he was bleeding out in some alley while Malik sat here in the safety of the bureau?).

Malik was staring at the page, but the language (already not his mother tongue and all the harder to read because of it), the words eluded him as he fretted over whether he had made the right decision (he could not lose him too). When a shadow fell over his page, he looked up immediately.

The journal fell from Malik's hands as Altair dropped down into the bureau. The sleeve of his uniform was stained with blood and Malik wasted no time in checking it over.

"It's but a flesh wound." Altair said, but hissed as Malik prodded it, "it was a trap, Robert De Sable--"

"Was not there." Malik finished. He pushed Altair to sit down by the fountain, "I will get the bandages. Strip."

Before he could leave, Altair snagged his sleeve. "What happened to your face?"

He looked angry and it prompted Malik to look pointedly at his bleeding arm. There was a clear difference between the severity of their injuries and it was ridiculous that Altair should be so agitated over what was nothing.

He shook off Altair's grip, "do not worry about it."

The rafiq was coming out as Malik made his way back inside. As he went to gather the supplies, he heard Altair beginning to give his report to the rafiq.

~ + ~

"--Robert De Sable rides for Arsuf." He did not wince as Malik carefully stitched the wound on his arm closed with practised ease. "He means to unite Richard and Saladin against us."

"Nonesense! Those men are mortal enemies." Malik listened to their talk as he cut the thread and set the needle aside. He washed the wound on Altair's arm, before slowly bandaging it. He seemed engrossed in his work, but Altair could tell he still had his ears open to the discussion, "there is no chance that they would work together!"

"We have killed important men on both sides of this conflict and in doing so we have painted a target on ourselves. I must stop Robert De Sable before he has a chance to put his plan into motion."

"You are being reckless." The rafiq said flatly, "you must inform Al Mualim of what you had discovered. This decision is too great for you to make."

"Masyaf is ten days' ride from here. By the time I make it back, Rober De Sable would have long made his--" Altair's words cut off with a hiss when Malik pressed none to gently against his wound.

"My apologies, brother. My hand slipped." He had stopped bandaging and he looked apologetic enough that anyone might have believed it to be an accident. Except his hand was still holding Altair's forearm with enough force to leave impressions on his skin. It couldn't be anything but deliberate and when Altair stopped to meet his gaze, Malik shook his head minutely (sublte enough that it could have been anything else).

Altair grit his teeth and fell silent as Malik finished his work and the rafiq stood. "I will send a message to Al Mualim. You must return to Masyaf with haste, Altair."

Malik tied off the bandages as the rafiq's footsteps disappeared into silence.

"You plan to ride into the middle of a battlefield like this?" Malik's words are a harsh whisper, as he rested his palm against the bandages on Altair's arm. It was a touch Altair shrugged off to get dressed. "You are mad."

"Robert De Sable must be stopped." Altair started to pull on the robe as Malik cleaned up. "Why did you not want me to speak in front of the rafiq?"

Malik looked over his shoulder breifly, then pulled Altair over to where he had been sitting before. "I stole a book from Robert De Sable. It seems to be a personal journal of some sort." He leaned in close so there was no chance of them being over heard, "there is information in there, about the workings of our order, about our philosophies that no Templar should have access to."

Altair's eyes were grim, "you suspect there is a traitor."

"Until I know who, it is best to be safe." He watched Altair buckle on his hidden blade, then reached out to touch him on the forearms as he finished fastening the last buckle, "I will come with you."

Altair turned so they were face to face. He turned his hands so Malik's arms were resting on his palms. Malik's head was tilted back, expression full of the same stubborn defiance that had drawn Altair to him all those years ago.

"No," He said and he felt the way Malik's grip tightend on his arm, "if there is a traitor then you must figure out who it is."

"You expect me to stay behind and _read_ while you ride off to fight?"

Not three months ago he might had said _yes_. It was almost certain that they would have gotten into a fight over his poorly worded response. "I need you to figure out who the traitor is. This is bigger than us, Malik. You have to stay. One of us has to make sure that this blight in our brotherhood is found and destroyed. And the rafiq will surely know I have not returned to Masyaf if we are both gone." He put his hands on Malik's shoulder, "I need you here."

It was clear from the sneer on Malik's face that he did not _want_ to, but he said, "fine." while shrugging off Altair's hands.

"I will return to meet you." Altair promised (best out of three), "Safety and peace, Malik."

A sigh, then, "safety and peace."

~ + ~

But there was neither to be found in the pages of Robert's journal in the wake of Altair's departure.

Malik had suspected there was a traitor in their midst, but he was unprepared for who it was.

When he found the page (dated just before Solomon's Temple), his breath had caught for the briefest moment. There was a piece of paper folded between the pages that Malik opened with uncertain hands and a sense of _dread_ that seemed to come from nowhere.

He read the words on the paper. Once, then twice and again to be sure he was reading properly.

The paper crinkled in his hands and he drew in a sharp breath (unaware that he'd stopped breathing for a moment).

He recognized the hand the letter was written in. The words and letters familiar from the missives and commandments that came to the infirmary from the man standing at the pinnacle of their order. The very man who had betrayed everyone (and ordered the death of his brother).

Slowly and with great effort, Malik unclenched his fingers. He sat there, considering his options.

Then he closed the journal, leaving the inciminating letter to stick out at the top. He stood and headed out of the courtyard and back into the bureau proper.

The rafiq looked up from his work and paused at the expression on Malik's face. He set his quill down and asked, "What did you need, brother?"

Malik didn't answer immediately, instead, he walked up to the counter and placed the journal on its surface. "There is something you must see."

~ + ~

The rafiq read the letter and then flipped through the journal. He was pale and his hands shook as his mouth moved slightly as he read.

When he was done, he closed his eyes hard enough that his brows furrowed.

When he remained silent, Malik said, "I understand it is hard to come to terms with, but there is no time to delay."

The rafiq laid the journal on the counter, placing one hand over it. When he opened his eyes again he stared straight at Malik who wished he'd put up his hood before he came in (and understood, a little better, why Altair always wore his up).

"Al Mualim did not send you, did he?"

Malik put his hands, palm flat on the counter, "No." His heartbeat was quick in his ribcage. The only proof he had was in the rafiq's hands. There was no doubt about the validity of the letter (especially for a man who saw their Mentor's handwriting more often than Malik did), but the sort of loyalty the assassins had was absolute and ironclad, "we must go to Masyaf and take whoever who is able with us."

The rafiq's face was stone, giving away nothing of his thoughts. "Altair has not returned to Masyaf."

"He will." Malik said with unwavering conviction (he _had to_ ), "you must gather your men."

When the rafiq looked back down at the worn journal, he looked sad and so much older than he did just hours before. Then he nodded, "I will call whoever I can."

~ + ~

Sumayya was surprised when she saw Malik (but wisely said nothing about his prescence). It was easy to avoid when she returned from hunting her target outside of the city for the last couple of days to find a meeting in the bureau of all active assassins currently in Jerusalem.

"Safety and peace." She said, and couldn't avoid giving Malik a sidelong glance. If the rafiq noticed, he made no mention of it.

"Brothers, thank you for coming on such short notice." The rafiq began, not the bowed, indecisive man he'd been when it was just Malik and him, but the straight-backed bureau leader of Jerusalem. "I am afraid I have grave news to share with all of you." He opened the journal Malik had brought him, pulling the letter out, "Al Mualim has betrayed us."

~ + ~

Later, as they were saddling their horses, Sumayya found the time to speak to Malik.

The first thing she said was, "it was Altair's idea, wasn't it?"

Malik checked the saddle on his horse, "it was. But I was the one who agreed to it."

He expected to be asked if he was sure (or perhaps to be asked about where his uniform had been stolen from), but instead, Sumayya's hand brushed over the fresh bruise on Malik's cheek, making him jerk back with a surprised hiss.

There was nothing forgiving about her expression when she asked, "who did that?"

"Robert De Sable." Of all things, he did not expect her soft sigh (like relief) and it was odd because Sumayya wasn't normally hard to read at all, "who did you think it would be?"

They were interrupted by the rafiq, asking if they were ready.

~ + ~

Malik's watch came after Sumayya's. When he went to relieve her of the duty, she said, "my father used to beat my mother."

She didn't add anything else and all Malik could think of in response was, "oh."

She nodded and when Malik sat down, she did not move to lie down and sleep. He thought about the anger in her eyes when she spotted the bruise on his face, and he thought, maybe she was seeing another face when she was looking at him.

"He could not divorce her. That is not a right he had. He told me once, that he would not wish his life on his worst enemies." Sumayya sighed. Instead of saying more on the subject, she said, "he loves you, you know."

Malik blinked. The very notion of that idea, that Altair would be in love with him and Malik wouldn't have noticed (that he was in love with Malik at all), seemed so strange that he wasn't sure if he understood her correctly at first.

He decided to set that aside (for now) and instead said, "and you still thought this," he gestured at the bruise on his face. It wasn't as if they hadn't hurt each other by mistake while sparring before, but that was not what Sumayya seemed to have assumed.

Her laugh was short and bitter, "I never said my father didn't love my mother."

~ + ~

They rode hard for Masyaf, but it still left enough time for Malik to dwell on what he had learned.

It felt dangerous to linger on the thoughts tumbling around his head, but there was little to do else to do as they travelled.

Still, despite the days spent thinking, he had reached no resolution by the time Masyaf came into view.

~ + ~

Altair came away from Arsuf covered in blood and sick with dread.

He had always intended to return to Masyaf. There was never any doubt about that (especially not now that he had promised).

But he had also intended to give Malik the choice to leave now that he was no longer trapped in Masyaf. He wasn't lying when he said he needed Malik, but he had also wanted to be the one to take him beyond Masyaf, to show him the world beyond what he knew. Altair had imagined, at the end, offering Malik the chance to take what Altair had given him (clothing to blend in, weapons to protect himself and money to get started) and leave, to find freedom.

He imagined, maybe, Malik agreeing to stay (and thought, wouldn't it be nice, if it was because it was what Malik wanted instead of an obligation?). Maybe he had been glad when Malik agreed to meet him in Masyaf (maybe he felt guilty for not opening Malik's eyes to the fact that he didn't have to stay if he didn't want to).

But as Robert died, he knew that Malik would not go (if there had been any chance of him abandoning Masyaf to begin with), not when there was a chance that Al Mualim might have sent Kadar to die.

(And he thought about the day when he talked to Rashid about Malik's skills, and though he had worn his hood up, he wondered if it hadn't been enough to hide everything and if _that_ had anything to do with what happened after.)

~ + ~

It took him two days to ride from Jerusalem to Arsuf, and then another nine to make it to Masyaf. He rode _fast_ spurred on by the fact that it was only nine days travel from Jerusalem to Masyaf. He hoped that Malik had not figured out the traitor too soon, that he will be there before Malik (that he will be there to fight with him, to watch his back, to keep him _safe_.

~ + ~

In the end, it was Malik, leading a group of assassins that helped _him_.

"We arrived yesterday," Malik said, as he closed the distance between them. "Everyone was already like this when we arrived. It is like they have become puppets."

"Guard yourself well, friend. Al Mualim has--"

"Has betrayed us all." There was a tight clench of Malik's jaw that told him that he suspected his brother's death was far from accidental. "he was in correspondence with Robert De Sable and the men you have killed." Malik shook his head (and maybe if things were less dire he may have laughed, however dark it might have been), "he has betrayed everyone, including his Templar allies."

There was vengeance written on Malik's face, plain to see for Altair who had known him for so long. He reached out and clasped his arm, "Be careful, Malik. What he's done to the others, he'll do to us given the chance. You must stay far from him."

But Malik had always been stubborn. Whether he was an omega or not, he could not be talked into backing down, into sitting and doing nothing. Altair felt a confusing mix of frustration and fondness, when Malik challenged him with his chin tipped up in defiance and said, "what would you propose? Those of us who have not fallen under this spell Al Mualim has cast over the people of Masyaf are still able to fight. It would be a mistake not to use us!"

He did not want to put Malik in harm's way, but he remembered their conversation before leaving for Jerusalem. They could not be equals if Altair treated Malik as a fragile thing. Altair took a deep breath, before slowly letting it back out. "Distract these thralls then. Assault the fortress from behind. If you can draw their attention away from me, I might reach Al Mualim."

Malik nodded, "I will do what you ask."

"The men we face, their minds are not their own. If you can avoid killing them--"

"Yes. Though he has betrayed the tenets of the creed, it does not mean we must as well." It sounded so much like what he had said to Altair not so long ago, that it made Altair's mouth quirk up into the slightest of smirks. "I'll do what I can."

"That is all I ask." Altair said and he was aware that his hand was still on Malik's and it would be so easy to drag him in and kiss claim his lips for his own. The assassins around them must have thought the same, because they were not looking at them directly. He squeezed Malik's arm briefly. "Safety and peace, friend." He let go before he could do anything foolish, but Malik held him back. 

Their eyes met and Malik said, firmly, "Your presence here will deliver us both." Then he finally let go and stepped back. The distance between them seemed, at once, insurmountable and insignificant when Malik smiled at him grimly, "now go. Do not forget your promise."

Altair might have said he'd already kept it by returning, but there was no time because Malik turned to bark orders at the men following him. (It was fine. That was a conversation for them to have when all this was over.)

~ + ~

Altair felt weary when Rashid finally fell to his blade.

His breathing was heavy but shallow and he could feel that the wound Malik had stitched up back in Jerusalem was either leaking or had opened up again. The wounds he'd sustained in Arsuf and then here ached and he thought as he fell to his hands and knees, that dying might have been less painful.

The thought wasn't worth dwelling on as Malik seemed to magically appear at his side, putting a hand on his shoulder, "can you stand?"

"Yes," Altair said, his hand coming up to cover Malik's. He licked his lips as Malik looked him over, prodding his side to search for injuries, "I didn't get to ask him. If he meant for Kadar to die and why." Malik didn't look up from where he was inspecting one of Altair's wounds, but Altair saw the heave of his shoulders and recognized his sigh.

"It doesn't matter. We must get you to the infirmary."

~ + ~

The rest of the day, to Altair, seemed to pass in a blur. He remembered, vaguely, speaking to the gathered assassins, most of whom had awaken from a dreamlike state to find their leader _dead_ and everything they knew turned upside down. He was not good at words, and in the years that followed, Malik never stopped reminding him that he could have done better than burning Rashid's body in front of everyone.

But things had worked out (more or less) and they were left to wait as the rafiq spoke with the others who were in the position to decide the fate of the order. Malik would return to the infirmary (they had suffered casualties as well but, regardless of that, they always seemed to be short staffed). Though he did not go before he'd treated Altair's injuries.

When he was halfway done, he scowled at Altair. "You are a nuisance." But as he finished bandaging the last of Altair's wounds, his fingers smoothed over the bandages like he was reassuing himself it would not bleed through.

~ + ~

Al Mua-- _Rashid's_ death felt like the end of something, but the truth was the world continued to turn. Night came, followed by morning and Altair was forced to contend with the aches in his body as he walked out of his chambers to do what he could to help.

Talk of how he'd saved the Order (supported by the proof Malik brought to the rafiq who had presented it for all to see) had circulated and even when Altair had first received the honour of being the youngest Master Assassin in the history of their Order he hadn't been looked upon with such _awe_.

When there was a lull, he found himself walking towards the infirmary.

Malik was there. He hadn't changed out of the assassin whites Altair had given to him and the sleeves were now stained with blood (not of men he had killed, but ones he had tried to save). It was always easy to see how bad the casulaties were judging by Malik's mood. If he showed his irritation with acidic complaints and in articulate, but exasperated sounds it was mostly nothing serious. When his brows were knitted while he stalked between the beds in the infirmary in silence then there were far too many that could not be saved.

He glared when Altair put a hand on his shoulder. "I don't have time for you."

"You need to rest." The other healers on duty gave them quick glances before looking away (one presumed, to give them privacy).

"Not now." Malik said, pushing his hand away, "I will." He conceded at the discontented sound Altair made, "but they need me here."

"Fine."

(But the next morning, Altair had come a second time and dragged him away. "Rest, Malik. You have earned it.")

~ + ~

Some way or another (neither of them were quite sure how), the bulk of the work involved in running the order had fallen on their shoulders.

It began because Altair wanted to look through Rashid's books.

Malik had agreed because they needed to know how far the rot had gone, how much damage Rashid had done.

They poured through documents after document and, as they came across those pertaining to the running of the Order, it made sense to set them straight and get what needed to be done _done_. There were supplies to request, missions to go over, and every little thing that was needed to keep the Order from collapsing in on itself to settle.

Before they'd realized it, the men and women of the Order were looking to them (mostly to Altair) for instructions.

It was headache inducing in its own way especially when the men and women who had gathered to decide the final fate of the Order's leadership, they were all whispering Altair's name.

~ + ~

They were working when Altair suddenly said, "There will be a ceremony in three days time, to officially name me as Mentor of the order."

Malik nodded without looking up from the papers he was sorting, "congratulations."

The sigh Altair let out pulled Malik's attention to him.

"They intend to marry us on the same day."

The way he said it was so very _resigned_ and it made something in Malik's chest tighten.

"I have no protests about it." He turned back to what he was doing (though he stared at the words without really reading them), "but if you do not want to--"

He was interrupted by a humourless laugh, "it is not that I do not want to marry you." 

Altair's hands came up to frame Malik's face. In that moment, anyone who believed the rumours that they had already been intimate with each other would see them for the falsehoods they were simply from flush that suffused Malik's cheeks and the surprise at the tender gesture.

"I used to imagine that you were looking at me when you would watch us practise from the infirmary window. I thought I could keep your attention if I proved I were better than all the others." The admission was a quiet thing, said with a secretive sort of smile.

Altiar's plan had worked in a way. Malik did watch him more often than the others even if he had scoffed at his arrogance, at the lack of care he showed his partners, but it didn't make any sense.

"Why?" Because Malik didn't understand. No one, in the whole of his life, had actually found him attractive, so the very implication of it seemed _ludicrous_ especially coming by Altair's own admission instead of being the guesswork of another. (But there was no stopping the way his heartbeat thundered at the possibility).

"Because," Altair started, brushing the pads of his thumbs over Malik's cheeks, "I wanted your eyes on me, the way mine were always on you." Then, it was: "do you remember when you joked about marrying me?"

Malik nodded as much as he could with Altair's hands still cupping his face, "You were upset at me." Which had been confusing when it happened, though eventually Malik figured it had been the reminder that Altair was only an omega playing pretend.

"I was." He said, "I would have married you in a heartbeat if I had thought you were serious. I still wanted you to _want_ me. I thought it would stop when it turned out that we were both omegas, but it never did. I was angry because you didn't care. We were both omegas but I was the only one afflicted with this unnatural desire for another of my sex, for _you_. I was _angry_ because the notion of marrying me had been _funny_ to you."

Malik's mind was a blank in terms of how to answer such a confession, he hesitated a moment before covering one of Altarir's hands with his own. "I am sorry."

"I want to marry you. That has never been the problem. But there is no point if it isn't also what you want."

There was no expectation in his expression and maybe that was the worst part. Malik bit his lip (a terrible habit he had when he was thinking). Slowly, he shook his head, "I cannot marry you."

Altair bowed his head in acquiesce, but there was no masking the sting of hurt in his expression (and it hurt Malik to see it, to know he was the cause).

"It is not that I--" He swallowed, "I could see myself being married to you. I would be _comfortable_ marrying you. But I do not know if I love you the way you do me. And it feels unfair to tie you down if I cannot reciprocate your feelings. You deserve better than that. That's why I can't marry you. Not now."

Slowly, Altair looked up (Malik studied his face and wondered, not for the first time, what he was thinking, what he _saw_ ). Then he nodded, "I understand. Will you stand by me during the ceremony?"

"I will." That, at least, Malik had no doubt about.

~ + ~

Malik wasn't sure what explanation Altair gave for the breaking of their betrothal, but no one gave Malik a second glance when he walked over to stand by Altair's side.

"You are my right hand." Altair said by way of explanation, "whether we are to be wed or not that fact will not change."

It also helped, perhaps, that Malik had also been among those credited with liberating Masyaf. Altair had seen to that.

Malik appreciated the gesture, but felt Altair's attempts were futile (feared they'd damage the stupid man's reputation). If they appreciated Malik's effort, it was at Altair's say-so. It would not last. Malik was simply an oddity to the majority of the alphas.

The ceremony wasn't anything special. It was fairly boring up until Altair held up his hands to speak to the gathered assassins. 

It was customary (perhaps even expected), according to the scholars, for the new Mentor to speak. But Malik had been worried because words were never Altair's strong suit. But they had sat down and worked out most of what he meant to say, at least.

"For years, we have followed the commands of a traitor. He denounced the goal of the Templars as evil, when it was his own goal all along. He used illusions to control the Order and lied to us all. I will not make the same mistake he did." Altair looked at the assembled assassins but Malik couldn't have expected what Altair was going to say next, "I am an omega."

The words were a shock and as a sursuration spread through the crowd, Malik was still scrabbling to figure out what the hell Altair was playing at. Altair raised his voice to speak over the crowd, "We fight for freedom, and yet enslave our own. How can we reconcile that? There is nothing lesser about my sex," Altair took Malik's hand and brought him forward so they stood shoulder to shoulder, "we can fight as well as any other, given the right opportunity."

Finally, finding his mental footing, Malik reached out to touch Altair on the arm. Malik's voice was a hiss in contrast to Altair's delivery, "what are you doing?"

Maybe he had dreamed of this too, long ago. Of Altair standing at the pinnacle of their brothers (though never as the Mentor), proclaiming to all that would listen what he was and why it didn't matter. When he had been younger and more naive he thought it would be the start of change.

Now his eyes swept the crowd and watched the sea of seemingly unfriendly faces and panicked.

"We are one, all of us. One brotherhood, following the same Creed and our Creed tells us that _nothing_ is true and _everything_ is permitted. Why should this be any different? If you will stand beside me in spite of my gender, speak now."

There was a wash of silence that made Malik's heart pound. His grip on Altair's hand tightened reflexively, to the point where it must have been painful.

He wondered at Altair's calm, and what he was seeing that Malik was not (he saw _blue_ everywhere he looked).

Years later, no one would remember the first person who stood forward, from the rows closest to the front, the ones where the Master Assassins stood. When Sumayya finally came out about being an omega, no one would remember that she was also the one to step forward first and declare her loyalty in a firm voice.

She was the first to say, "I will stand with you, the man who had saved us from the traitor that would have enslaved us all."

There was a hush that fell over the crowd, this one much shorter before another came forward and spoke up.

That was followed by another and another until they seemed to become a mass of agreements.

Malik thought, it would not be so simply. The real fight would come, when the events of the last few weeks were not so fresh, when Altair's hero status begins to fade. They will only keep standing here by merit, more than an alpha would need to keep the loyalty of these men.

But for now, Malik felt a tentative swell of _hope_ as he and Altair shared a look.

~ + ~

The feeling did not last, however and when it was over, Malik slapped Altair's arm.

"You are a fool of the worst kind. What would you have done if they chose not to stand by you?" He demanded and he flushed when Altair smiled at him.

"I do not mind making an enemy of the world, as long as I know you will be standing beside me."


	5. Epilogue

Malik never stopped being worried that the truth of Altair's gender would cause problems. And it did, but they were small waves rocking the boat and not the devastating monsters he had expected.

But it's been two years and Malik had never stopped worrying about it. Altair had laughed at him once, about how he will turn grey before his time if he insisted on worrying thus.

Malik had dipped the quill into the ink with more force than was strictly necessary, "well. One of us has to worry about this and clearly, it's not going to be _you_."

They fell into a sort of rhythm, the two of them. They worked from morning to night, at first struggling to keep the Order from collapsing and falling into chaos, and then to keep things running and to _change_ things.

Altair's first order of business, once everything had begun to stabilize, was to change the practice of marriage.

He said, "why should anyone have to have my permission to leave their husband? It is their life and their marriage. Not mine."

It was not the last of changes Altair brought either and Malik was no longer surprised when he decided to do things like that seemingly on a whim. Though Malik had learned over the last two years that Altair's decisions were hardly as thoughtless as they may appear.

He put thought into them. It was simply that he never shared his thoughts.

There was no point in pushing him to talk about them either. Malik had learned that long before Solomon's Temple. Altair will speak his mind when he is ready to.

It was because of that that Malik could still be caught off guard.

~ + ~

Malik looked between Altair and Rauf. Finally his gaze became fixed on Altair and he said, "You cannot be serious. Altair, the rest of the Order will not agree to this."

When Altair asked him if he'd want to be an assassin, he had thought it must have been a cruel joke. But Altair's expression was serious and it was clear he meant what he asked.

"They will if it is you." Malik's response was a strangled laugh which made Altair frown, "you can, but it will be hard. Everyone will want you to fail, but if you do not, it will change things."

"Haven't you changed enough?" Malik sounded weary ans he rubbed at the bridge of his nose. It is not that Malik did not agree with the changes Altair had make, but there was such a thing as _too much_ change in too little time.

Altair stood from where he was standing and put his hands on Malik's shoulder.

"We are changing things, but if it is only me, they can say I am an exception. If there are two, it is harder for them to dismiss. But you have to succeed, or they will continue to believe I am an exception. It can only be you."

Rauf nodded, "I have seen you fight." Which was a surprise because, despite Malik's contributions to retaking Masyaf, people seemed to conveniently forget his role once they realized he was an omega, "you could give most of the instructors trouble in a fight."

Malik looked between them again and he thought of Sumayya and how she was still afraid to reveal her gender for fear of how people would look at her. (He thought about the dream he'd had as a child, the one he'd given up on in adulthood.)

His hands clenched into fists.

Altair noticed (of course he did, it seemed like he noticed everything about Malik these days), "this is your choice."

But he wasn't surprised at all when Malik took a deep breath and asked, "what do I need to do?"

~ + ~

Malik adjusted the grey hood on his head. Then, when he felt as ready as he would be, he turned back to look at Altair. He spread his arms out, "Well? How do I look?"

There was a faint quirk of Altair's mouth, "like a novice."

"Yes. That is what I am." The way Malik fingered the edge of the robes bellied the dry tone of his voice. Finally he sighed. He did not say, _I can't believe I'm doing this_ or _this is a bad idea_ because he was already here and it was too late to back out. Instead he said, "I have trouble believing this is happening."

He did not see the moment Altair's mouth pulled down into a frown, but there it was when he lifted his head when Altair stopped in front of him.

"You deserve this and more. If it were up to me I would have made you a full assassin just for the service you have rendered to the Order."

Some humour returned to Malik's expression, "you refer to the years I spent terrorising the infirmary?"

There is an answering smirk on Altair's face as he clapped Malik on the shoulder.

"You will be fine." Then, more solemnly, it was, "do not lose to anyone."

Altair had leaned in closer when he said it, as if it were meant to be a secret. The proximity made Malik flush and, like many times before, he was abruptly reminded of Altair's confession right before he (officially) became the Mentor.

He cleared his throat and took a step back. (Felt a pang of regret when Altair's expression shuttered close and his hand hung in mid air before dropping.) "I should go." But before he did: "don't worry. I won't."

~ + ~

He did not do this for Altair. It was for himself, for Sumayya and all the other omegas who want more than what their gender permits.

Malik was doing it for the him of years ago, the child who had wanted to be an assassin so badly that the very idea of being an omega had made his stomach turn.

He fought so that no one else would go through what he had, he _won_ because this was something he would not concede on.

Altair was only a small part of the equation.

Even so, when he was declared the victor of the match, it was Altair's eyes he sought out automatically. Altair did not look proud (as if he had any hand in Malik's achievement), but looked self-assured as if he had never doubted that Malik would win against the alpha who had challenged him to a match. Malik was glad for the flush in his cheeks from exertion and for the hood covering his face (because he suspected he must have looked like a fool from the swell of his chest when he caught Altair's eyes).

~ + ~

Malik was made a full assassin a little after the third year of Altair being the leader of the assassins.

And he had never felt as proud as the moment when Altair clasped him by the forearm and said, "congratulations on your promotion."

~ + ~

Tahir, who had long since grown from a gawky youth to a fine young man, had smiled at him.

"It suits you." He said, indicating with his hand that he meant the uniform Malik wore. But his grin faded into a puzzled frown when Malik put his head in his hands and sat down on a stool (the same one he had occupied for many years) heavily. "Is something the matter?"

Malik rubbed a hand over his face, "It is nothing. I just--can I ask you a question?"

The request seemed to only further confuse Tahir, "Of course. Anything for you."

Dropping his hands so his elbows rested on his knees, Malik looked at the ground. "Have you ever been in love?"

Tahir had been sorting the small pots of herbs on the shelf (carefully putting the ones laced with laxatives that were often stolen for recreational use at the front. It was a practise that predated even Malik's entry into the ranks of the healers that no one has ever taken credit for). At the question, his movements stopped and the sound of small, earthenware pots being moved turned to silence.

After a long pause, he finally answered, "yes."

Malik hadn't moved from his position though his fingers opened and closed as he thought. "How did you know?"

When no answer came for a while, Malik finally looked up. Tahir was looking right at him, a small, rueful smile pulling at his mouth. He walked over and crouched in front of Malik. He had outstripped Malik in height years ago. It had been a long time since he had needed to look up at Malik.

"There was a time," He began, "when I thought you knew everything." Then, before Malik could respond to that, it was, "is this about Al Mualim?"

The question caught Malik off guard which only made Tahir laugh.

"This isn't about me!" Malik said hotly, but it only made Tahir laugh harder.

"I cannot tell you how I knew. I have never felt the need to doubt it." He said when he managed to get his laughter under control while Malik glared at him, "only time will be able to disprove your doubts, I think."

The flush on Malik's cheeks hadn't faded, but it wasn't why he looked away. "I do not want this to be a mistake."

Tahir's laugh was not mocking. It was short and quiet like it was pushed from him. "I fell in love when I was a young boy. But the man I loved was already in love with another." He took Malik's hand in his and squeezed, drawing Malik's attention to him, "I do not know what the future will hold for you. But if you are only worried that what you feel isn't love I do not think you need to worry."

Then, he laughed again and stood up. "Do not look at me like that. It has been years." Because Malik looked _sorry_ and it wasn't what he wanted to see. "You cannot _know_ anything. If you wait until you are sure to speak, then you will never find the courage to say it." He was still smiling and there was nothing melancholic in it when he said, "you must take a leap of faith, perhaps the greatest one of all. But trust in yourself and trust in _him_. It is not a mistake and even if it were, I think the two of you would be able to overcome it."

~ + ~

Malik left the infirmary with more than he had been looking for.

There was no reason for Tahir to lie (and maybe, when Malik looked back, he could spot the signs as well).

But he still spent weeks agonizing over it.

What he said to Altair following his confession was still true.

Altair's presence in his life had always been something of a constant. Being at his side was _comfortable_ , but there was no saying if it was _love_.

 _You must take a leap of faith._ Those words drew Malik to the east tower and he stood on the plank from which the leap of faiths were down and he thought as the wind blew against his face.

In the silence of the evening he thought of everything, analysed every remembered encounter (of all the pain they had caused each other, all the scars they left), and tried to find an answer. He breathed deeply, letting the crisp evening air fill his lungs.

Malik stood there, still as a statue, until the night's chill had settled in his bones. He thought, suddenly, of that night when he decided he didn't want to lose Altair and for the first time he wondered _why_.

He breathed out, the sound he made a cross between a sigh and a laugh. Then he stepped back until he was nearly back inside the tower. Then he ran forward and jumped.

~ + ~

Malik had imagined, many times, how he'd broach the subject. He imagined nights of quiet conversations, where, during a lull, he'd touch Altair's hand, and whisper his answer to Altair's confession so long ago. He imagined bright afternoons, maybe after a spar, brushing the hair plastered to Altair's forehead away and, breathless with exertion, let the words he'd been bottling inside out.

But in the end, he didn't say anything at all.

They had been working, headed ducked close as they talked and Malik had turned his head when Altair did and suddenly they were so close that if Malik were to lean in--

Altair's eyes were wide when he did just that, brushing their lips together at first gently, then more insistently. Malik was trapped, not just by Altair's hand that came up to hold the back of his head, but by the fact that he didn't want to move away.

He moaned, when Altair dragged him in by the arm, until Malik had little choice but to climb onto Altair's chair, his knees on either side of Altair's thighs.

Malik was flushed and embarrassed when they parted, but Altair looked _dazed_ like he didn't believe that had just happened.

"I'm sorry." Malik said, both hands resting on Altair's shoulders, "I meant to ask for permission first."

Malik hadn't meant to kiss Altair first because it seemed important to confess: to let Altair know that all his fears that Malik would never return his feelings were unfounded, that he had loved Altair longer than he realized and more deeply than either of them had suspected.

But laughter burst from Altair's chest, to be smothered against Malik's mouth as he leaned in to kiss him again.

Malik managed to pull away from the kiss by leaning in to whisper in Altair's ear.

"Will you do me the honour of marrying me?"

"Yes." Altair said and it was easier than he'd expected. The single word seemed to fill him with an uncomplicated _joy_ that made him feel dizzy and light-headed, "yes." Altair said again, like once hadn't been enough.

They shared unhurried kisses until Altair ran a hand down Malik's back with a sigh. "I think," he said with a low laugh, "that we have done enough work for tonight." The hand that rested firmly on Malik's ass filled in what he planned to do instead of work.

Malik snorted and bumped their foreheads together, "this is not an invitation for you to slack on your work."

"I will work harder tomorrow." Altair said, kissing Malik in a way that made a shiver go down his spine, "I want you _now_."

"So impatient." Malik managed to murmur against Altair's lips.

"I have been patient."

(Which was true.)

Malik's sigh was offset by the way his fingers were buried in Altair's hair and the fond smile that he couldn't quite contain. "I suppose you have been." He kissed Altair again (and then once more), then added, "but do not complain to me when you have what's left of today's work to finish as well as tomorrow's."

"I won't." Altair smiled at him and it occurred to Malik that he had never seen Altair smile like that before, all greedy with anticipation but also stupid with the realization that this was happening at all.

"I'm almost certain that won't be true." Malik said dryly as he stood up, straightening his clothing, "but maybe you will surprise me."

Altair stood up and pulled Malik in again, uncaring of the way Malik sighed irritably when his clothes were once again pulled out of place.


End file.
